


Virtue and Vice

by Boy_On_Strings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Author is a Train Wreck with Tags, Blowjobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, FBI Intern Stiles Stilinski, I guess maybe? Definitely some underwear interest at least, Just a little so far, Just soooo many blowjobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Obsessive Behavior, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Sexual Fantasy, Tags May Change, Temperature Play, Underwear Kink, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, depending on how you look at it, maybe a little, not in like a stalking way though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2019-08-19 05:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16528028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boy_On_Strings/pseuds/Boy_On_Strings
Summary: Stiles tries to use random video chat to find someone to relieve some tension with, but fate serves him up something unexpected.





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Stiles lives alone, no roommate. He used to have one, but Connor dropped out of the FBI Internship after just a couple of months. That affords Stiles certain privileges, like not having to worry about being caught jerking off. He does it a lot. He’s pretty sure that you’re supposed to have more sex after high school, but he didn’t exactly have the most by the book experiences growing up. For whatever reason, he strikes out a lot with girls around D.C.

He Tinders, because that’s totally a verb once you’ve had a few drinks, which he’s had, but he’s not great at it. He knows he’s funny in person, but it doesn’t translate well to text, or at least that’s what he tells himself. What he’s better at is webcamming. Maybe it’s because he can see the person, maybe because they can see him, he’s not sure.

There are some downsides to doing cam stuff, which is mostly dicks. Sooooo many dicks. Like a metric ton of dicks. Even on sites that are supposed to have a lot of girls. Sometimes it’s like falling into a swimming pool of dicks, and then trying to climb out with a ladder made of dicks. He didn’t have anything against dicks. He liked his dick after all, and every now and then he could appreciate a good-looking dick. He played lacrosse with a statistically significant number of hot guys. His senior year he’d considered writing a paper on the possibility that the Nemeton as well as the high density of telluric currents in his home town had a direct impact on the body fat percentage and symmetrical facial features of residents. Scott’s jaw being the anomaly he never quite figured out.

He should probably not have another alcoholic beverage, but the whiskey bottle on the table is just sitting there calling his masculinity into question. He’d fought monsters. He could handle another drink.

He’s not naked, because nothing causes a girl to skip to the next random cam chat than a guy who is already balls deep in his own fist before he says hello. If he’s being honest, which he rarely is with himself unless he’s had a lot to drink, like tonight, but if he’s being honest, he doesn’t often find a girl who wants to do a cam sex thing. Usually he just gives up, tries to find some good amateur shit on Tumblr or Pornhub then rubs one out while promising himself he’ll succeed next time.

Tonight, seems like a good night though so he figures he’ll give it a try. He cracks open his laptop, checks what he looks like in the cam. He’s not bad. If he was his type, he’d fuck himself, if he was the type to fuck guys on the regular. Which he wasn’t. He wasn’t the type to fuck anyone on the regular really. In fact, his mission was to find someone he could fuck on the regular. He picks up his drink, gulping down a few swallows while watching himself out of the corner of his eye. He did not look desperate. He looked like a guy who would be fun to chat with.

“You’re a cool dude,” he says to his camera image.

Jesus his life was fucking sad. Whelp, it’s not like he was getting any better looking or wittier. Except he sort of is to himself, but that's probably the whiskey talking. He connects to his favorite site, the one he’s had the most success with, which is to say that one time three different girls flashed him their tits in one night.

The first thing that comes up is a guy balls deep in his own fist. He sighs.

“Does that ever work for you, bro?”

The guy doesn’t respond, just disconnects from him and sends Stiles back into the queue for another random chat partner. Whatever, he didn’t even have a great dick. Anyway, the next person is a guy too, a shirtless one vaping. Stiles is pretty sure he can smell cinnamon and graham crackers through the internet via whatever strange magic is low key always fucking with his life regardless of whether he’s in California or D.C.

He’s going to be home in California for Christmas soon. He should be packing but instead he’s trying to find a stranger to masturbate with on the internet. He raises his glass to toast Vape guy and takes another drink. Vape guy disconnects. Stiles is barely hurt that Vape guy didn’t ask to see his dick. It’s not like he’d have shown it, but still. Hurtful.

Stiles knows as soon as the girl appears on the screen that she’s like fifteen or sixteen tops. He immediately disconnects. Another reason not to be mid jerk while trolling through chats, even though it was supposed to be age restricted, people were people. The next session opens up and Stiles is stunned.

“Jackpot,” a woman says. And it’s definitely a woman, not a girl, not a teen, a smoking hot blond woman maybe in her late twenties or early thirties.

“Jackpot?” Stiles asks, because he’s not sure if she’s fucking with him.

“Of course, baby. I came on here looking for a fresh-faced boy to tell me how beautiful I am,” the blond says, eyeing him up and down, or what she can see of him anyway. “You’re like the first guy I’ve come across tonight who wasn’t already about to bust a nut on their keyboard.”

“Graphic,” Stiles says, because he needs time to get his wits together. This lady is gorgeous, like would be suspected of being a catfish if she was talking to him on Tinder gorgeous. “But yeah, no I’m not about to bust on my keyboard.”

“Can we change that?”

Stiles brings his hand up and bites his knuckle, because holy hell. Jackpot indeed. “I could be convinced. Easily, convinced.”

“You look like a good Catholic School Boy, probably not even old enough to be on here.” She leans back, and Stiles can make out a few details of the room she’s in, probably a bedroom. “Can I see your driver’s license?”

Red flag. Stiles is thinking she’s maybe a scammer, but also maybe flirting with him. He really wants her to be flirting with him. To be honest he sort of needs her to be flirting with him. It’s been a long time since he got off with another person, even over the internet.

“I can’t show you my license, but trust me, I’m definitely old enough to be on here. I have a uniform, but it’s not a Catholic School Boy uniform.”

“Oh, are you a fire fighter or police officer?”

“Something like that.” FBI intern was something like that, technically. And he didn’t have a uniform exactly, but it's uniform adjacent. Black slacks, white button down, black tie, belt, and shoes. That was a uniform, right? He had an FBI messenger bag, that made it a uniform. Accessories were important.

“I love a man in uniform,” she says.

Stiles also liked a man in uniform. Or he would if he was into guys on the regular, which again, he wasn’t. The few times that he’d watched guy on guy porn, not gay, but guy on guy, it had been with guys in uniform. There was probably something psychological there that he’d need to pay to get help resolving one day, but he grew up around a police station. Like nearly every person in Beacon Hills had been hot as hell, which included his father’s coworkers, which were a lot of guys in uniforms. He was a product of his environment.

“Me, too,” he says, because his brain is not braining correctly anymore, on account of the whiskey and the hot woman who maybe wanted to have some fun with him. “Err… anyway, yeah I have a uniform.”

“Go put it on and come back, I’ll take my shirt off while you do.”

Ethically speaking, was wearing his FBI ‘uniform’ in the hopes that it would help him get off with another human’s help wrong? It seemed like it should be. His eyes flicker over to the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table next to his laptop. It's sitting there judging him, emasculating him. He can’t let the whiskey do him like that, so he nods at the screen.

“Yeah that sounds totally fair,” he says. He gets to his feet, cursing as he realizes she can probably see his hard dick through the sweatpants he’s wearing, but since he was hoping she would want to see his hard dick without the sweatpants he doesn’t let it phase him.

It doesn’t take him too long to get changed. One of his specialties was putting on his FBI uniform while he was running late, so he had the process down. He slings the messenger bag in front of his crotch, because the dress pants are a good fit, which means that even with his erection tucked up into the waistband to keep it under control it’s still pretty obvious.

He’s tying his tie as he get’s back in front of the camera, and it’s focused in on his stomach, groin, and thighs, because he’s standing which puts the FBI logo center. He’s just about to ask her what she thinks when she disconnects.

Okay, yeah. FBI logo on webcam probably not a turn on for most people. He’s just about to pull the bag off over his head when the next session connects.

“FBI? Is that appropriate, sir?”

Holy _shit_. Stiles knows that voice. Would recognize it even if he couldn’t clearly see Deputy Jordan Parrish’s face. Deputy Parrish in full uniform. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, and he looks at the whiskey bottle for help. It doesn’t do anything, because it’s a fucking whiskey bottle. Deputy Parrish called him, _sir_ , and Stiles’s dick is into it. It strains against his waistband like it wants to get out and see what the deputy wants to get into.

Stiles is going insane. He knows he’s going insane because he’s literally gone insane before and it fells exactly like this. He leans forward, making sure to keep his face out of line of sight of the camera, but types a message out on the keyboard.

_Are you questioning me, officer? Is this your jurisdiction or mine?_

Deputy Parrish, because despite no longer being in high school, he can’t think of Deputy Parrish as ‘Jordan’, leans forward to read the message. It looks like he has trouble swallowing, and he leans off screen for a second to pick up a bottle of water, takes a quick drink from it before sitting it down off screen again.

“Well, it seems like you can hear me, sir. I didn’t mean to question you. Is there anything I can do to assist?”

Deputy Parrish smiles, but he twists his hands a bit nervous, like he’s not sure if the ‘FBI Agent’ on the other side of the internet wants to get into a little sexy RP. Stiles bites his lower lip. Deputy Parrish was like a librarian he’d absolutely love to have disappointed with him. He didn’t know exactly what that meant but it still makes his dick twitch, so the math checks out in his brain. He leans forward again and types.

_I have reason to believe there is someone infiltrating your local police forces._

Deputy Parrish’s eyes light up, nodding he scoots forward on the couch, or futon or whatever it is that he’s sitting on, and Stiles just knows he’s going to hell. Not because he’s a bad person, which he is. He’d definitely suggested that he and Scott let Derek and Jackson die on multiple occasions and had only been joking when Scott didn’t agree.

Stiles isn't like capital E evil or anything but lying to Deputy Parrish with a vague plan of hoping that it somehow ends in mutual masturbation is probably a sin. That's okay, because Hellhounds are probably from hell or whatever, so Deputy Parrish would be there with him and maybe they’d still end up naked and holy shit his brain. _His brain, what the fuck_. He keeps typing though, because fuck yes, he’d seen Deputy Parrish mostly naked, but not fully naked and he knows he shouldn’t be thinking that the deputy is _smoking_ _hot_ because it’s lazy even if appropriate. He needs to see him fully naked, needs to know what the deputy is packing under the black boxers he likes to wear.

_The suspect allegedly has a tattoo on his stomach, deputy._

“No tattoos here, sir.” Parrish smiles widely at the camera, perfect teeth and innocence, and Stiles knows that if he keeps calling him sir he might come in his pants. “Do you need me to prove it?”

Ethically speaking, was it okay to not reveal himself to someone he knew, and instead continue trying to maneuver said known person into jerking off with him? Stiles knows he’s not great with ethics, he’d already tried to use the FBI thing to get a random woman on the internet to show him her tits. Was trying to get Deputy Parrish to show him his dick any worse? Probably, but Stiles already knows he’s going to hell. He keeps typing, and it seems like he and the whiskey bottle are finally on the same page, which alarms him a little, but not enough to get him to stop.

_Standard operating procuedure._

Stiles realizes he misspelled procedure immediately and he thinks about trying to correct himself, but his brain sidetracks as Parrish unbuttons and pulls his uniform shirt off, revealing perfectly sculpted abs. Well defined lines of muscle that Stiles has seen literally on fire, and if he’s being honest with himself, which he might as well try to be since here he was, wanted to try to put out with his tongue. He types frantically.

_Deputy, you could have disguised the tattoo with makeup, however the suspect is also supposed to have a penis piercing._

Stiles bites his lips, typing is hard with all his blood abandoning his brain for his dick. He doesn’t even care though because Deputy Parrish stands up, unbuckles his belt, undoes his uniform pants and pushes them down. Black boxer briefs aren’t doing anything to conceal the fact that Parrish has an erection. He smooths out the fabric to outline the head of his dick and it takes everything Stiles has not to undue his own pants and start jerking off. With shaking hands Stiles types more.

_Not good enough, deputy. Please don’t make me restrain you and check myself._

“Yes, sir” Parrish says, but his cheeks turn a bit pink, like maybe the restraining plan could definitely be on the table.

Stiles knows he’s not saying ‘sir’ directly to his dick, but Stiles’s dick doesn’t know and it tries to answer by tearing it’s way free. Unable to take it he pushes his messenger bag aside and rubs himself through his dress pants.

Parrish’s eyes look away from his camera, and Stiles can tell he’s focusing on his hand. Well not _his_ hand, on the hand of the FBI agent giving him orders. Parrish pushes his boxers down, his dick falling free and it’s everything Stiles thought it might be and more. Stiles knows it’s probably normally pale like the rest of Parrish’s skin, but right now it’s flushed and hard. The deputy strokes himself, then turns first one direction and then the other to make sure his camera catches it from multiple angles.

“As you can see, sir, no piercing. I do have to ask though, how do I know you’re not the suspect trying to trick me into betraying my department? I think you should show me yours too.”

Stiles doesn’t even need to be asked a second time. He unzips and after a bit of a struggle manages to get his dick out of the fly of his boxers, and then out of his dress pants. He mimics what Parrish did, stroking and turning so that it’s visible from multiple angles. Stiles hadn’t done his tie perfect, so it get’s in the way a couple times. He gets tired of that fast, so pulls it up and put’s it in his mouth but making sure his face doesn’t enter his camera’s field of view.

Parrish seems to know what he did though, and his eyes close like he’s imagining what the agent might look like, tie in mouth and fist pumping over his dick, then his eyes snap open again, like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of Stiles stroking himself. Not that he knows it’s Stiles, which again probably should be making Stiles feel bad but he’s too hard to care right now.

Stiles’s breath starts getting ragged, and Deputy Parrish perks up on the screen, tugging on himself even harder when he realizes his FBI jerk buddy has a microphone and he can hear the grunting through his speakers.

“Sir, I wish you were here with me. I’d be down on my knees for you.”

Stiles’s legs wobble a bit, and he starts stroking himself quicker and harder, fist going up and down over the head making his toes curl a bit. Parrish starts mimicking his speed and movements, like he’s imagining they’re jerking each other off instead of themselves.

“Would you let me, sir? I’ve cooperated, would you let me taste you?”

Hearing perfect, innocent, Deputy Jordan fucking Parrish talk dirty to him was going to ruin Stiles. He’d seen the man on fire, covered in ash, covered in dirt, and he was right on the edge imagining seeing him covered in Stiles’s come, wiping it away from his cheeks and lips, smiling shyly up at Stiles from his knees and yeah. Stiles loses control, painting his laptop keyboard and screen with thick white fluid.

Parrish pants on screen, reaching out a hand towards the camera then brings it up to his mouth. He looks dead in the camera and licks his fingers, then he’s coming too. Stiles watches, surprised by how much there is, like it had been awhile since Parrish had gotten off. It drips down his knuckles and off toward the floor.

“Holy shit, Parrish,” Stiles says as he drops back onto his couch, and immediately he realizes he’s fucked up. He looks up to see Deputy Parrish go from startled, to embarrassed, to horrified. “Parrish don’t—”

But it’s too late. Parrish disconnects. Stiles barely has time to disconnect from the site before he’s auto rolled to the next chatter, and he does not want the next random person that comes up to see him holding his spent dick and staring blankly.

Fuck, he’d just jerked off with Jordan Parrish on the internet. He’d been prepared to just feel that shame as he jerked off to it over and over again for who knows how long, but he wasn’t prepared for Parrish to realize it was him.

He looks at the whiskey bottle, hating how smug it is.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The thing about Parrish is that he runs hotter than normal people. Stiles is into it, he is, but he’s panting for breath and the air around them is _scorching_. Sweat drips off his forehead and onto Parrish’s back, slides toward his neck because the deputy is face down, arms crossed at the small of his back, but up on his knees, head down in the blankets. Stiles is tying his FBI ‘uniform’ tie around Parrish’s wrists, and trying to ignore how badly the deputy wants it. Parrish is pushing his ass back against Stiles’s groin, maybe trying to get Stiles inside him, even though he’d already been told to be patient.

“Please, sir,” Parrish says, and it’s not quite begging yet which means he doesn’t get what he wants.

Stiles opens his mouth to tell him he needs to be a good boy, but there’s this beeping that’s driving him up the wall. He wants to focus on getting Parrish what he wants, which is Stiles to hurry the fuck up, but the beeping is getting louder, and Stiles finally _gets_ it. He knows what’s going on and it absolutely kills his boner.

“Sir,” Parrish asks, and he looks over his shoulder, his eyes are absolutely begging for it, which is what Stiles had wanted until he realized he’s having a dream. He knows he’s having a dream because that’s a skill he’s never giving up. A skill that only someone born and raised in Beacon Hills would ever need.

“I know, puppy,” he says, because it’s okay to do that to a Hellhound in a dream. He pats Dream Parrish’s ass and takes a long look because he wants to saver it, but the fucking _beeping_ is a superb cock block.

He leans forward, places a kiss and a little nip at the base of Dream Parrish’s spine, then opens his eyes. Yep. The problem with basically always being right is that sometimes the thing you’re right about completely sucks. He rolls over in his childhood bed which he would have bet good money on used to be bigger and slams his hand down on the alarm clock. It doesn’t turn off with one hit because that’s the kind of morning he’s having apparently.

Sitting up, he grinds his palm down a bit on the erection that he wished he was pleasing Deputy Parrish with rather than consoling. The air in his room is a little chilly, or maybe it just feels that way because his brain was still low-key thinking about whether Parrish ran hotter than average. He tries to wipe the sleep out of his eyes with the hand that’s not doing the consoling. He’d taken a red-eye flight from Washington, but with the three-hour time change he’s all turned around, not sure if he should be more or less awake.  

He considers jerking off, but the air is cold, and maybe doing it in a steamy shower would put him back in the mind frame he wanted. Sliding off his bed he slams the alarm clock again because it’s still beeping, notices it’s a little past seven in the morning. That means it would be like ten in D.C.

Whatever, a dude needs sleep. He’s naked, because that’s his thing now, living alone ruined him for clothes, but he can’t walk to the bathroom like that cause he’s not sure if his dad’s left for work yet. He picks up yesterday’s boxers and pulls them on. You just didn’t put on clean boxers for a walk to the shower. He grabs the t-shirt he was wearing yesterday, brings it up to his face to smell it. It’s either not terrible, or it’s not terrible enough for him to notice. Either way he considers that good and walks out into the hall.

He starts to turn towards the bathroom, holding the shirt in his hands still because he’s not awake enough to pull it on while walking, but he stops in his tracks because yeah, that’s bacon. He smells bacon. His dad, who was now officially the best was making breakfast for his first morning home. You didn’t keep bacon waiting, it simply wasn’t done.

Shirts are complicated, but he manages to get it sorted out by the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs. He looks down, and yeah sure, it’s inside out and backwards, but who was he trying to impress? His dick is mostly under control, stomach having wrestled it into submission, which is good because his shirt isn’t long enough to hide the business.

Stiles is steps away from the kitchen, and his tummy grumbles, reminding him that it should have been long past breakfast time for him. “If ever I made you feel like you weren’t the best, dad, let me begin my three-part apolo—”

“Stiles is _here_?”

The thing about not wearing pants when you were home is that normally there weren’t people you’d tricked into jerking off with you a few days ago on the internet there too. His dad seeing him in his underwear? Yeah whatever, that happens. Dudes are dudes. But Deputy Parrish was not a dude. Well, he was but—

“Yeah he got in last night,” Stiles’s dad is just making conversation. Conversation with a guy who Stiles almost just had a wet dream about. Fucking Nemeton, fucking telluric currents.

Momentum still carrying him forward he turns the corner of the kitchen, hand on the wall thinking maybe he can pull himself back in time to avoid the inevitable train wreck, but it doesn’t work and instead he sort of stumbles into the kitchen. Pantsless. Because that’s how Beacon Hills does it’s favored sons, no mercy, no preparation.

“Yo, dad,” he says.

His father is already in uniform, carrying freshly fried bacon to the kitchen table. He looks Stiles up and down and just sighs, shaking his head. That’s totally fair, Stiles deserves that. He knows what he did.

“Really, Stiles? Did you not pack pants?”

Stiles looks over and Parrish is like chalk white, _ghostly_ white. Dude is normally pale but like all the bloods gone out of his face, and the part of Stiles that was evil long before the nogitsune co-opted him whispers a dirty joke about where that blood must have headed. His eyes drop to Parrish’s crotch, because of course they do, and he looks up just in time to see Parrish’s eyes recovering from a momentary dip down too.

“Well I should probably get to the station,” Parrish says, and he tries to turn and walk out except that Stiles is between him and the exit to the kitchen, so he just sort of bumps into the wall instead.

“You alright, _sir_?” Stiles asks, because well, he might as well go all in.

“Nonsense, Deputy,” Stiles’s dad says, because he’s a nice guy and Stiles mentally high fives him. “I appreciate you dropping by with the witness statement before heading back. The least I can do is offer you breakfast.”

“That’s quite alrig—”

“Sit down, Parrish,” Stiles’s dad says, because he’s a fucking hero.

“Yes, si— Sheriff,” Parrish looks over at Stiles, and there’s an accusation there, like Stiles somehow ruined the word ‘sir’ for him.

The accusation falls flat though because his eyes start to dip, and Stiles catches it in time to stretch his arms up above his head causing his shirt to ride up a bit and yeah, he wasn’t like ripped or anything, but he knew the little trail of hair under his belly button could be of interest to some people. He let’s out a yawn he doesn’t even have to fake.

“Stiles set the table.”

“With like… dishes?” Stiles is a little confused because when he lived here, they were paper plate people. Neither he nor his father had the time, energy, or desire to do dishes.

“Yes, Stiles. With dishes,” his dad says, but like slowly, as if Stiles was stupid.

Parrish is moving towards the table, eyes locked onto the plate of bacon like it can save him, which Stiles gets because bacon is basically the only real miracle left in the world. There’s empathy there, but not enough to keep him from ‘accidentally’ brushing a hand against the deputy’s shoulder as he walks by. It’s safe because his dad has turned back to the stove, getting ready to scramble some eggs.

“What to drink, Deputy?” Stiles asks, failing to get Parrish to break away from the bacon and look up at him again.

“Coffee’s fine,” Parrish says.

“With cream?” If Parrish is going to softball him pitches like that Stiles is going to swing.

Deputy Parrish coughs, and scoots his chair closer to the table and Stiles just barely hides the grin on his face as his father turns toward him, pushing his mug down the counter towards the coffee pot for a refill. He sidelong glances at his dad, because he’s wicked smart and if Stiles is too brazen, he’s going to realize something’s up. Coast clear. He scoops up the mug and refills it.

“Sure…” Parrish says, and then after a moment that must have been painful for him continues, “and a little sugar.”

“Yeah no problem,” Stiles says, because he’s a gentleman. He finishes his dad’s coffee and slides it back to him, then mixes up Parrish a cup. He walks up behind him, and with a quick dad check to make sure the coast is still clear he leans over the deputy’s back to set the cup in front of him, maybe brushing his torso a bit against Parrish, and holy hell Parrish’s ears are _red_.

“Thanks,” Parrish sort of mumble whispers as he picks up the cup and just gulps some of it down like it’s not scalding hot right off the burner.

Stiles files that away to think about later and turns to get the dishes out of the cabinet, knowing there was no chance his dad like redid the placement of kitchen items while he was gone. Parrish doesn’t look up at him when he sets a plate and fork next to his arm, but he does pull his arm away like he’s afraid Stiles is going to do something to it, and Stiles is starting to think maybe he’s taking this a little too far.

He spreads out dishes for his dad and himself on the table, then takes a seat across from Parrish rather than right next to him. He can’t help it, he just wants to look at the deputy. Part of him is wondering where he went from guys are kind of a thing he can sometimes find aesthetically pleasing to I want to be inside one, but then Parrish looks up at him and his eyes are _blue_. Blue like… fuck Stiles didn’t even know but he just wants to keep looking into them. A little alarm bell goes off in some small part of his brain, but he just slaps it off internally. No need to delve too deeply into that.

His dad scrapes portions of eggs out of the pan onto each of their plates, and Stiles looks up in time to see his father giving him this _look_. The one where he knows Stiles is up to something, but he doesn’t know what but is making a promise to himself that he’s going to figure it out. Stiles hates that look. Coast definitely not clear. Coast Guard on full alert. Abort.

He twists up out of his chair and heads towards the refrigerator. He’s going to have juice. Juice was safe, on the other side of the kitchen from his father’s all-seeing eyes. He swings the door open and leans over, pushing aside a few things to get to the orange juice at the back of the bottom shelf. He looks over his shoulder to ask if anyone else wants juice. His father’s piling bacon onto his plate, too much if you asked Stiles, which his father clearly wasn’t. Parrish though, he was looking at Stiles’s ass.

“Juice?” Stiles asks but he’s already turned back to look at the fridge, figured he’d let Parrish have a free pass on this one. Stiles did have a great ass.

“No thank you, s— Stiles,” Parrish says, and now Stiles thinks maybe it’s his own face that might be changing colors a bit.

He straightens up, pulling the orange juice out. He cracks open the freezer to get a bit of cold air on his face, grabs a tray of ice cubs out because he needed to invent a reason to have it open in the first place.

“Tell me you’re not drinking orange juice with ice because you’ve gotten used to it with alcohol,” his father says.

“I could tell you that dad,” Stiles says, because he wants to buy time with him standing in front of the freezer and also because maybe then his dad will think the color in his face is from embarrassment, “but you told me to stop lying to you.”

His dad sighs, and even though Stiles isn’t looking back at the table he knows he’s shaking his head. “Why start listening to me now?”

“Maybe the FBI is making him a more responsible person,” Parrish says.

Parrish trying to stick up for him makes Stiles feel bad about messing with him. He closes the refrigerator and freezer, buys himself some more time with getting a glass and dropping a few cubes into it. He fills it up with OJ, puts everything away, then carries his drink back to the table. He sits down, risks a glance up at Parrish and the deputy offers him a reassuring smile, because he’s like a knight, and Stiles feels like human garbage for trying to make him uncomfortable.

“I know people drink underage,” Stiles’s dad says, but he’s looking down at his plate of bacon, and trying to act like he didn’t grab more strips while Stiles was at the counter. “Just… be safe, son.”

Literally every person in the world was better than Stiles. Except Derek Hale, and probably Jackson too, and Theo. Fuck, no one was worse than Theo. Existential crisis averted Stiles grabs the few remaining pieces of bacon and drags them onto his plate.

“I know it’s not my place, Sheriff, but you should probably be a little more careful with the bacon,” Parrish says.

“Excuse me?”

Stiles holds his breath, because while Parrish just stole a little piece of his heart for worrying about his dad, he also knows that this is a touchy subject. The deputy holds his hands up, showing that he had no weapon with which to defend himself.

“Everyone at the station knows you can hold your own, Sheriff. The guys you took down in the basement of Eichen House speaks to that, but you have to take care of yourself. You’re too important to this town, to your son, to go down to something as preventable as heart disease.”

Stiles is just staring at Deputy Parrish, and a glance over at his father shows him his dad is right there with him. Stiles’s brain tries to raise that alarm again but Stiles just tosses the thing out the window. His dad pushes his plate away.

“Well… I was done anyway,”

Parrish leans forward picking up the sheriff’s plate as well as his own and carries them towards the sink.

“You don’t have to—”

“Everyone does their part,” Parrish says, cutting Stiles off. “The Sheriff cooked, you set the table, I’ll do the dishes. Just set yours on the counter when you’re done.”

Stiles just stares down at his plate. His dad stands up, looking at Stiles then placing a hand on his shoulder. He pats him once, then turns and takes a few steps toward the exit of the kitchen.

“Well I should go get my badge and gun. I’ll see you later, Stiles. Thanks again, Parrish. See you at the station.”

It doesn’t take Stiles long to finish eating, and he ignores the way Parrish stiffens when he walks up next to him to set his plate down. Without saying anything he picks up a dish towel and starts drying the plates and cups Parrish has already finished. It takes a moment, but eventually the tension bleeds out of the deputy.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, looking over.

Parrish glances over at him for a second, then back down into the soapy water. “Like I said, everyone does their part.”

“No, I mean for what you said to my dad.”

Deputy Parrish just nods but doesn’t say anything. He finishes washing the last plate, reaches over and sets it down into the drying rack. Stiles offers him the driest portion of the dish towel he can find, and Parrish wipes his hands on it.

“Thanks,” Deputy Parrish says, “I should head to the station.”

Stiles watches him walk away, and yeah, it’s worth it to watch Jordan Parrish walk away. It’s not until the front door closes that Stiles realizes he doesn’t know what the deputy was thanking him for. Stiles slams his toes into the leg of the table as he tries to rush around it to head to the front door and it hurts like a mother. He rips the front door open, and Parrish is just opening the door to his cruiser.

“Thanks, for what?” Stiles calls out. “What are you thanking me for?”

“Breakfast,” Parrish says, and then he just looks Stiles up and down, reminding Stiles that he’s standing on his front porch in his underwear. “And the show.”

The best part is that immediately Parrish looks like he feels guilty, and it sends heat to Stiles’s groin. The deputy hits his head as he basically dives into his cruiser, wastes no time in getting it started and pulling away from the house. Stiles really needs that shower, with as hot of water as he can stand. He stubs his toe again in his haste to get up the stairs, but it doesn’t matter because he’s so fucking hard.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

“This is the worst plan you’ve ever had, Stiles,” Lydia says.

They’re sitting across from each other in the front room of Lydia’s mom’s house. He’s leaning forward trying not to talk with his hands. It’s not the worst plan, it’s the best plan. He only does best plans. Except for that one time. The fact that she was home on winter break too meant something. It did. Luck was on his side, and Lydia had insight he needed.

“Do you feel like screaming?”

“Yes.” She says it so fast it takes the wind out of Stiles’s sails.

“But screaming in a someone is going to die if I go with this plan way or screaming in an it’s just another one of Stiles’s plans that are very clever and almost always work way?”

“Neither of those.”

That’s a start. He can work with that. Banshee doesn’t sense death from plan. That’s the very first viability check. The plan is going to work. He can feel it in his bones. Or maybe just one bone. Okay technically it’s not a bone but he _feels_ it. Well he doesn’t feel it, because Lydia is right there and that’d be weird.

“Is this weird?”

“That my ex-boyfriend wants me to help him trick a supernatural guardian I have a mystical connection to and almost dated into a situation that said ex-boyfriend hopes will help him get said supernatural guardian into bed with him at some point in the future?”

Stiles rolls that over in his head a few times to make sure it’s right. He nods, leaning forward further and pointing at the coffee table between them like it has a physical copy of the plan he’d shared with her.

“Yeah, that. Is that weird?”

“No not at all,” she says, and Stiles starts to let out a sigh of relief but before he can get the breath out, she continues. “It’s insane, Stiles. Insane.”

“So that’s a no?”

“It’s a maybe.” Lydia has this smile, and he knows the smile because he’s seen tougher men than him crack under it and it reminds him that he still loves her, that he’s always going to love her. Also, that he’s a little bit afraid of her.

“A maybe? Like how close of a maybe to yes, metrically speaking?”

“That’s not how words work. How did the FBI look past the way you talk long enough to realize how smart you are?”

It’s a compliment. In his heart he knows it’s a compliment, but it still stings a bit. If he ever had to describe Lydia to a stranger that had never met either of them, he’d go with something like that. She makes you feel special when she’s paying attention to you, but it stings a bit.

“Okay fine, it’s insane, but everything about this is insane. The only way to fight insanity is with more insanity,” he gets to his feet and starts pacing because he needs to be doing something because he’s not great at not doing anything. That’s why he can’t just wait and see how the Parrish thing plays out. He needs to do _something_.

“You know that’s not even a little bit true right?” Lydia says.

“We’ve used such plans as let’s have half of us die for a little bit to power up a tree.”

She regards him, leaning back and just existing with her perfect makeup, perfect hair, perfect… ness, then inclines her head like he finally scored a point. He doesn’t know what game their playing, but he loves having points. Even if it’s just a single lonely point.

“Fair,” she says. “I’m going to allow that.”

He knows he’s asking a lot, and he also knows that karmically it’s probably dragging him even closer to being a bad person. Or a worse person, because he’s already accepted that he’s bad. The part of him that’s the most like Scott starts gaining ground, which means he starts feeling guilty for not doing the right thing.

“Okay maybe this is a bad plan,” he says. “I think I’m just going to go. I’m sorry.”

She catches his hand as he starts to walk by. She leans back to look up at him, and like Anubis at the gates of the afterlife she _weighs_ him. “Is this just a sex thing?”

“Yes,” he says immediately.

Lydia stares up at him with her hazel eyes and they’re like his kryptonite, which is completely unfair. Even if he had one stupid point, he was never going to beat her. He’d beaten a dark kitsune at a game within his own mind, and he couldn’t beat Lydia Martin at pretty much anything.

“I don’t know,” he says. “And I know maybe it’s a little bit sketchy, but I don’t want to think about it. I just want to investigate it.”

“And you think Jordan is open to it?”

Stiles nods, because he hasn’t gone into all the details, he’s just said that they kind of flirted. Which they had, this very morning there had been flirtation. He just didn’t tell her about the not quite honest masturbation session. Also, it was weird that she called him Jordan. Like Stiles knows that's Parrish’s name, but he's Deputy Parrish, it would be like calling Captain America ‘Steve’.

“He’s like Captain America,” Stiles says to himself. Outloud. Because he has no idea what's wrong with him.

“Well he did dress up as Captain America for Halloween,” she says. She says other things too, something about having seen pictures on social media, but Stiles’s brain has checked out on her.

Deputy Parrish with a Captain America costume. He _needed_ that in his life. Stiles tries really hard not to think of Parrish in the suit, but it’s just there, setting up a home in his brain. It’s without the weird mask hat thing, and Parrish is on his knees because when Stiles is thinking of him and sex, the deputy is always on his knees…

Lydia snaps her fingers, and Stiles shakes his head, breaking free of the ensorcellment she laid on him. “Okay you’ve got it bad,” she says. “I’m not exactly sure what it is, but it’s bad. Are you going to hurt him?”

Stiles sits back down and just _looks_ at her. She inclines her head again, and now he has two points. He’s still not sure what’s going on, but he’s got _two._ “You know I would never intentionally hurt someone despite the things I’ve said about Derek and Jackson in the past. Except Theo, I would probably hurt Theo if given the opportunity.”

“That’s fair,” she says, and maybe he has three points? Two and a half?

“By the way, why aren’t you taking this weirder? Like, you don’t think it’s strange that I might be into guys a little bit now?”

“Now?” she laughs, and Stiles bristles a bit. “You think that this is a now thing, something new?”

“Ye—”

“Honestly I always figured you were bisexual. It’s like how it was with Jackson, a girl knows. I’m just a little surprised that it’s coming to light with Jordan though. But I can see it.”

“You can?”

“Yes.”

“Because?”

She gives him this _look_. Again. But it’s not the same look as before but this look that says we’ve had sex and I know the kinky shit that gets you going because I’ve helped make some of your wildest fantasies come true and left scratches down your back to prove that I’d been there.

That triggers something, it plays along the edges of his mind. Malia had gotten literal claws into him. Lydia had left marks too. Was the fact that Parrish was dangerously hot… literally, a factor? Did he have a pain kink?

“We could start with during the years of your sexual awakening, you know, high school, you spent a lot of time chaining up attractive boys and girls.”

“We could not. We could not start there. Please let’s not start there.”

“Then you take into account that your first sexual partner was physically and sexually aggressive.”

“We don’t need to take that into account. We don’t have to do any accounting really.”

“The girl you’ve spent the majority of your life in love with…” she pauses, placing a hand over her heart, “is also very socially dominant and sexually aggressive. It would stand to reason that if you wanted to branch out into a more sexually dominant position yourself, you might want to do that with someone of the same gender because you might be intimidated by trying it with a partner of the gender you’ve often been more submissive with.”

“You study psychology now?”

“Still math.”

Everything she was saying made sense. Sort of. Like he could see it if they were talking about someone who wasn’t him. That still didn’t explain Parrish.

“So how does Parrish fit into your theory?”

She arches an exquisite eyebrow at him, interlaces her perfectly manicured fingers and lets them rest on her lap and she gives him another _look_. But this time he doesn’t know what it means. She doesn’t say any more, she just sits there.

“Lydia?”

“I’m going to help you.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t want to jinx it, but he needs to know. Lydia was dating someone at her college, Stiles knew that, but it still seemed odd that she’d be willing to help a guy she’d been in love with not too long ago get physical with a guy she’d flirted with in the past.

“I’m a little worried that every guy I touch seems to eventually become interested in other men. Maybe I should call my new boyfriend and check in on him.”

“Maybe all of us who have been lucky enough to share even the smallest amount of time with you realize we’ll never find another girl that’s as perfect.”

She smiles at him, and there’s a pang in his heart because he’s not completely joking. He didn’t think he’d ever find another girl he’d love as much as he loved her. His heart was only so big, and she was always going to occupy a significant portion of it. She stands up, holds out her hands towards him, so he get’s up and takes them. She leans in, kisses him on the cheek.

“That’s why I’m helping you,” she whispers. “Because if Jordan is interested in you, he deserves the chance to feel the way I just did.”

He pulls her into a hug, places a soft kiss against her hair, and blinks away the tears forming in his eyes. “It’s still the best plan,” he says.

She laughs, hugging him back. “Your plan is not the worst plan, because it doesn’t involve anyone dying for a tree, but the plan I have is better.”

“You have a plan?”

“I always have a plan.”

He couldn’t argue with that.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

It takes _years_ for Lydia’s Best Plan™ to go down. Okay, not years, but _months_. It’s not really months it’s _days._ Yeah, it’s been days, and Stiles has jerked off so many times in the shower that his dad asked him to look at the hot water heater because it seems like there’s no hot water whenever he gets home. Stiles didn’t even know there was such a thing as a heat kink, and he prides himself on knowing things that make other people uncomfortable.

But finally, after patiently waiting for days, the plan is going down. He’d texted Lydia on his way to the Lake House, just to make sure everything was going as intended. She hadn’t responded. Okay she had responded the first thirty-seven times he’d texted her through the day, but she hadn’t responded to the thirty-eighth text, which could easily be argued as the most important.

He parks in the driveway, and there are two cars there, one of which he doesn’t recognize, and it makes him worry. Deputy Parrish without his cruiser didn’t add up in his brain. Like he knows that Deputy Parrish is Jordan Parrish. He knows that logically, but his dick doesn’t know it, and his dick _loves_ Deputy Parrish’s cruiser. It’s had so many ideas about that car. He, Stiles, didn’t know there were so many fantasies someone could have about a police officer and their vehicle, but his dick, it knew, and it went on at _length_ about it. He chuckles to himself because dicks and lengths and _what the fuck_ is he doing? He’s sitting in his rental car listening to his junk instead of enacting Lydia’s Best Plan™.

Stiles gets out of the car, and yeah, he needs to take like just a moment to reach down into the top of his pants and once again get his dick situated into a better position. He tries pushing it to the side, but it feels a little obvious, so he goes tried and true and tucks it up into the waistband of his boxers and jeans, makes sure his shirt is hanging right so that nothing is visible peaking out, checking out what’s going on, and, okay. He needs to stop. If anyone is watching him it probably looks like he’s in the opening act of a jerk session in the driveway, but it’s not his fault because dicks are _complicated_ , and just generally attention seeking little bastards. Well not little, because he did not have any problems there.

“Focus,” he says to himself, because he’s not even a little bit crazy anymore he’s just… yeah.

He doesn’t run up to the house. He doesn’t. That’s not what happens, he just powerwalks. It was a thing confident people did when they had places to be and Stiles had a place to be. He knocks on the door to that place. No one answers immediately, but he doesn’t knock again because he’s patient. He’s raising his hand to knock again, because as it turns out he’s not _that_ patient. It opens and there’s a Parrish. A sweaty not in uniform but in a sleeveless athletic shirt and shorts Parrish who is surprised. Very surprised. The door closes right in his face. Rude.

It takes a short eternity for the door to open again, and there’s a Lydia. A sweaty, hair tangled Lydia in clothes he didn’t know the names of when they were meant for girls and his brain is going through some whiplash. He’s into sweaty Parrish, and he’s into sweaty Lydia, and he knows he has a line that he’s supposed to be saying right now but it’s not there. It’s not on the tip of his tongue, not even a little bit.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” Lydia doesn’t even sound like she already knows the answer. She’s a much better liar than Stiles and this was starting to no longer feel like the best plan, he wasn’t even giving it a ™ this time. He’s confused, his dick’s confused. Parrish had definitely looked confused.

“I stopped by your house to surprise you,” he says, because Lydia is mouthing it at him while she keeps her back to where Parrish probably is inside. He’s nodding along with her because he’s terrible at this. “Your mom said you were at the Lake House, so I figured I’d come by to do that surprise I just mentioned a second ago.”

She gives him another of her _looks_ , and he definitely knows this one. It’s the one that makes him feel like his flesh is being peeled off his bones inch by bloody inch by the sheer force of her disappointment.

“Well I’m surprised, that’s for sure,” she says. It feels like maybe she’s saying she’s surprised at how bad he is at acting, which frankly is unfair because she knew that before she’d ever pitched this plan to him.

They should have gone with his plan that involved him calling in a noise complaint on himself and then being surprised when Parrish showed up to restore order, and then somehow convincing him to play like Fear Pong with him or something. Yeah that probably wouldn’t have worked either, but it would have been less awkward than him standing in front of the Lake House not knowing what his next line is supposed to be. Probably.

“Come in,” she says. “We were just doing a little bit of training, so I wasn’t rusty when I went back to college and continued my martial arts class.”

“Fun,” he says, because the thought of Lydia and Parrish wrestling is kind of fun, and not something he should be thinking about right now. He’s thankful he’d already gotten his dick sorted in the drive way because this conversation, and its associate imagery wasn’t putting the situation to rest.

“Jordan was actually the first person to train me in hand to hand,” she says, and it takes Stiles a second to remember that Jordan is Parrish because his brain is absolute trash right now.

It’s hot in the room. Probably for a lot of reasons, but in his mind it’s mostly because Parrish is worked up because he’d been wrestling with one of the hottest girls ever, but also because now he was seeing Stiles and maybe thinking about when he’d seen Stiles in his underwear, or even maybe when he’d seen Stiles’s dick.

“Hey,” Stiles says to Parrish, because the deputy is just standing there like he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing and looks stiff and uncomfortable. Stiles has stood like that so many times he could really empathize with what he's going through.

“Hello.”

That’s all Stiles gets, and there is this awkward moment where they’re all just standing in the living room, and even Stiles is sweating now, but not for the same reasons Lydia and Parrish were. Silence is like his worst enemy and if it keeps going on, he’s just going to start saying things and that would absolutely be the—

“Do you do unarmed combat training with the FBI?” Lydia asks him. “You could get some training in too.”

Stiles turns and _stares_ at her because that was not the Best Plan™. There was a 100-hour basic program that he was working through, but it was more like arresting technique, how to get your gun out while being attacked in close quarters, and how to improve your odds if being attacked in close quarters by both an armed and unarmed assailant. He glances over at Parrish to see what he thinks of the two of them doing a bit of contact sport, and the deputy’s eyes are _wide_.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “I can show you what we do, but I’m sure it’s pretty similar to regular Law Enforcement Control Tactics.”

Lydia puts her finger to her mouth, like she just realized there was a problem, and Stiles has known her long enough that he knows she didn’t just think of it. “You can’t wear that shirt though, Stiles. It has buttons on it.”

He doesn’t really know what that means, so he looks down at his shirt. He’s wearing the green button-down that she’d _specifically_ requested he wear after he told her what he’d brought with him from D.C. He doesn’t even have a shirt on underneath— oh. Okay. He gets it. The Best Plan™ was much larger in scope than she’d shared with him.

So, he unbuttons the shirt, and Lydia slides around behind him to help him take it off. Parrish’s eyes get wider, and they dip low and Stiles is suddenly very aware of a big problem. His dick hasn’t completely settled down, so it's still visibly trapped in his waistband. The waistband tuck only worked if you had a shirt on. There’s nothing he can do, so he owns it. He watches Parrish as he reaches down and thumbs his dick to the side, forcing it to the left a bit and down. It makes the bulge in his pants way more noticeable but it’s better than having the top out checking what’s going on.

“I’m going to grab some more bottles of water,” Lydia says, “You boys go ahead and get started.”

Stiles isn’t sure of whether Lydia notices his pants situation when she walks past him out of the room, but if she did at least she doesn’t comment on it. He’s trying to project this air of confidence and lack of embarrassment, and he probably doesn’t even need to because Parrish isn’t looking remotely close to his face.

“You went through LECTITP,” Stiles says, trying to capture Parrish’s attention. “You do training for the Beacon Hills Department, right, Deputy?”

“Yes, sir,” Parrish says, like it’s an instinct, and his stance shifts, hands going down in front of his shorts.

It doesn’t accomplish what Parrish is hoping it will, but he had to be wearing briefs, or an athletic supporter or something because while Stiles can clearly see the bulge forming in the front of the shorts Parrish has on, it’s not as pronounced as he’d have expected. He knows Parrish’s dick, he’s seen it, so he’s aware of the kind of damage it should do to loose shorts. That of course sends Stiles’s mind on a whole different tangent, thinking of Parrish on his hands and knees on his bed, just in a jock, and Stiles had no idea he had so many specifically male kinks.

“Do you want to compare moves?” Stiles asks as neutrally as possible, like he could mean anything by it.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, sir.”

It’s unclear as to whether he’s trying to convince Stiles, or himself. Maybe if he didn’t keep adding sir like he was trying to see if he could get Stiles’s dick to twitch every time he said it the protest would feel more genuine. And for the record it is causing Stiles’s dick to twitch and Parrish knows it because he’s had laser focus on Stiles’s groin from the moment Lydia slid his shirt off.

Stiles takes a few steps closer, and Parrish immediately takes a few steps back, and that’s a fun game because Parrish is almost already up against the wall, so he doesn’t have much space left to retreat. “I think it would be educational, you were in the armed forces, so I’m sure you know more than just Law Enforcement Control Tactics. If I were to assault you, what would you do?”

He reaches out, and Parrish backs into the wall and has nowhere to go, so it’s easy for Stiles to lightly push the deputy’s chin up, so he’s forced to make eye contact. Parrish’s pupils are dilated, barely a blue ring at the outside, and holy shit his skin is just shy of _burning._ He does run hotter than average and Stiles is surprised he can’t see steam rolling off the deputy because Parrish is sweating, and he bites his lower lip at the exact same moment that Stiles licks his own lips.

Stiles can tell that Parrish is looking at his mouth, doing everything he can to not keep eye contact and he uses that lack of focus. Stiles get’s a good grip on Parrish’s shirt, pulls him forward and off balance. The deputy reacts immediately on instinct and _shit_ Stiles is outclassed. Parrish has him on weight, strength, training, but maybe not on speed, and definitely not on focus at the moment.

One thing that Stiles had taken with him to D.C. and the FBI Internship was the desire to get better in a fight. He spent a lot of time in Beacon Hills not being able to defend himself, needing others to protect him. There was going to come a time when someone was going to need him to protect _them_ and he was sure as hell not going to come up short when the time came. He wasn’t a werewolf, or a banshee, he wasn’t a coyote, kanima, chimera, or hellhound. He was just a normal guy in an abnormal world, but he’d be damned before he let one of his friends die because of it.

Parrish comes at him like he's the Stiles from six months or a year ago, with a basic grapple meant to bare him to the ground so the conflict would be over quickly. Stiles rolls with it, getting his legs between Parrish’s and pulling him off balance further. They both go ass over teakettle across the mat, but Stiles recovers first. He gets Parrish’s arm trapped between his stomach and the deputy’s back, tries to use his weight to keep Parrish pinned.

Stiles goes for an arm lock, something more solid than just relying on his smaller body mass. Parrish shifts back, trying to get to his knees and roll Stiles off but it brings his ass back firmly against Stiles’s groin and the deputy freezes. He let’s out this ragged breath that reverberates in Stiles’s balls.

The Best Plan™ is finally earning that trademark, and Stiles is really getting into it, he grinds his hips forward and feels Parrish’s skin heating up degree by degree. The air may as well be fire, and just like in his dream sweat drips from his forehead down onto Parrish’s back, but it’s absorbed by his shirt, doesn’t roll across bare skin.

“You’re okay,” Stiles says, because Parrish’s muscles start to feel like molten metal. “Calm down. You’re okay. Do you want me to let you go?”

Parrish’s shirt is rucked up a bit, and Stiles can feel the super-heated strip of flesh against his belly and it's so strange because he associates that belly heat with being close to losing control, of too good, and not enough air and he really wishes he wasn't wearing jeans because he’s hard enough that it’s starting to hurt, especially at the awkward angle his dick is in, trapped against Parrish’s ass.

“No, sir,” Parrish says, and it’s barely above a whisper, a confession that takes root in Stiles’s brain.

Stiles didn’t know he could get harder, but it feels like he does. Parrish has his face buried in his forearm, the one that Stiles’s isn’t holding and he’s just rocking back into Stiles’s hips. The back of his neck is bright red, and Stiles wants to lick it, so he keeps holding Parrish’s arm with one hand, grips the back of the deputy’s shirt and yanks him up.

Parrish’s other shoulder starts moving, the one attached to the arm he didn’t have a hold on, and Stiles can just picture him grinding his hand down on his dick. Just like Stiles’s, his is probably too tight, tangled up in the jock or whatever it was that he’s wearing under his shorts. He’s maybe working his hand after getting under his waistband, because he lets out this relieved noise like he’s finally getting some skin on skin and Stiles _get’s_ that because he needs it too, but he can’t see what the deputy is doing with his free hand so he focuses on what he’s got, which is an exposed neck, flushed and without his teeth marks on it.

He widens the space between his knees, adjusts how he’s kneeling, and braces himself to let Parrish grind back against his dick. It starts right away because it seems like Parrish _needs_ that, and Stiles isn’t complaining, it feels good even at the bad angle. He lets the deputy take what he wants and just tries to endure it, survive it, because it seems like Parrish now has his own _Best Plan™_.

Stiles drags his tongue along inhumanly hot skin, and he isn’t a poet, so he doesn’t know exactly what it is that Deputy Parrish tastes like, but its sweat, a faint soap, and skin and so good. His nose brushes against damp sandy brown hair and he inhales what’s probably the traces of a shampoo that he thinks he recognizes, has maybe used before on a trip and _fuck_ he needs to fire his brain because he’s thinking about shampoo instead of mouthing at the back of Parrish’s neck, so he get’s back to it, bites down on the deputy’s spine as an apology and it seem like Parrish _gets_ that because his body goes completely rigid like… no way. _No way_.

After one completely embarrassing adolescent experience Stiles swore he’d never get so worked up that he comes in his pants, but he can’t help it, he bites down harder, just shy of drawing blood and some part of his brain apologies for breaking that sacred pact he’d made with himself and then his balls draw up tight and his dick is just pulsing hot and sticky into his boxers and he doesn’t care because the pleasure rips through him hard enough that his bones feel like they’re cracking. Relief and shame pour through him because he’s been hard since before he got out of the car, but he could have made it so much better for Parrish if they’d not started horsing around and fucked like regular consenting adults. That said he has zero regrets because spontaneous orgasm was not a gift you took for granted, even if it left you wearing underwear that was sticking to your skin in the wrong kind of way.

“Please let me go, sir” Parrish says, and Stiles can _feel_ the shame laced into the request and he releases the deputy so fast that Parrish falls forward, barely managing to catch himself before he goes face first into the mat.

Stiles is just kneeling, a little stunned by the flip in mood, and he watches Deputy Parrish quickly gather his stuff and basically flee out the front door. That’s not the reaction Stiles was hoping for, he wasn’t expecting like a that was fun, how about tomorrow you let me show you what I can do with my mouth, but an abrupt exit left his head spinning.

It’s worse because a second later Parrish opens the door again, and he’s looking at the ground directly under his feet, like he’s trying to make sure he can’t see Stiles at all. “You’re parked behind me.”

It takes a second for Stiles to even process, because he’s kneeling on an exercise mat, having just come in his pants over a guy who was now asking him to move his car. “Yeah, dude. No problem,” he says, because he’s not the kind of person to keep someone trapped where they don’t want to be anymore.

Deputy Parrish doesn’t even wait long enough for Stiles to pull his shirt on. He’s just immediately gone, like one of his hellhound powers is vanishing in a cloud of smoke. There’s no smoke though, there’s just Stiles, buttoning up his shirt, head spinning and shame creeping out of his stomach.

He walks out the front door, fishing his keys out of his pocket afraid to look at the car he’s parked behind but he can’t help himself. Parrish is sitting in the front seat, head down on the wheel and Stiles wants to just pull the door open, rub his back and say something, but it seems pretty clear Parrish needs to get space, so he just walks by, gets in his rental and backs out of the driveway. His hands are shaking a little, maybe from adrenaline, maybe from something else and he’s not sure he can drive yet, so he just pulls over, watches Parrish pull out and drive away. He tries to ignore how it makes him feel.


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

“So, what are you going to do?” Scott asks, and it’s awesome because he doesn’t say ‘Are you gay or bi?’ or ‘Holy shit you sort of had sex with Deputy Parrish’. He’s very Scott about it, just accepting it’s a thing that happened, and even though it’s a conversation on the phone, hearing Scott’s voice is helping him stay calm and rational.

Stiles pops the cap open on the bottle he’s holding, sniffs at it, but it’s like coconut or something. Definitely not what he’s looking for. He set’s it back on the shelf and grabs the next brand.

“I’m going to be super chill,” Stiles says, frowning at the new bottle. It has oranges on the label so he’s already dubious.

“So, you’re obsessing,” Scott says like he’s known him for so long that even over the telephone he knows when Stiles isn’t being honest. “Are you going to drop into the station and confront him about it?”

Stiles is right, it’s not the one with the oranges on the label, so he set’s it back. He shifts his cell phone to his other hand, and other side of his head. He picks up the next bottle. It’s bright red and while that has the right imagery, when he pops the cap and breathes it in, it doesn’t have the right smell. He set’s it back down and picks up a navy-blue bottle with a brighter blue rectangle on the logo. It doesn’t put him in the right mindset, but he feels like he’s on the right track.

“No way, dude. That’s like his space or whatever. I’m not going to go and make it uncomfortable, that’d be a total dick move. Besides, what makes you think I’m obsessing?”

There’s just silence. Stiles opens the bottle, but he doesn’t even have to bring it fully up to his face before knowing it’s not right. Why wasn’t he a werewolf? If he was a werewolf, he’d have already been able to solve this puzzle and be on to the next thing. Being a human was crap.

“Stiles…”

He’s got a great feeling as he picks up the sixteenth brand. By process of elimination he had to be getting closer. It’s interesting that so many of the bottles are various shades of blue and black, with only a few bright colors, and a smattering of whites. He’s wondering if there’s some sort of psychology to the product packaging.

“Stiles.”

It’s white, and black, and he hasn’t tried many of the white ones and he can sort of see how white could draw some people in. Clean, crisp, and upon smelling it, it’s not at all what he’s hoping to find. He set’s it back and tries another navy one. It’s trash. Well it’s not trash, it’s just not what he _needs_.

“STILES!”

“Yeah, dude. I’m here. No need to yell, and no, I’m not obsessing.”

“You’re opening and closing something over and over again and sniffing at it, you are definitely obsessing, or maybe doing drugs. I’m not sure.”

He’s not obsessing, that’s not a thing he does. He set’s the navy bottle down and tries an orange one. Orange was like fire. It’s a clue. He smells it, and it’s not a clue, it’s another disappointment.

“I’m just looking for something specific and not finding it,” he says.

“Fine, whatever. Anyway, do you think it’s because he’s afraid of people knowing he’s into guys? He was in the military and now he’s with the police, maybe there’s something there with gender roles?”

Stiles pulls the phone away from his head again and stares at it. He shakes his head, changes hands and put’s it back up to the original ear, tilts his head to trap it between head and shoulder, and crouches down to get at the bottles on the bottom shelf.

“First off, college is doing you right. That’s not something I’d considered, but I’m going to confidently say no. For whatever reason, whether Nemeton, telluric currents, or changing times, sexuality and the like doesn’t really seem to bother anyone in Beacon Hills. Like who cares if you’re a girl who likes girls, or a guy who likes guys, when there are monsters eating people’s faces and spraying acid out of their butts.”

“Tell me that’s not a thing,” and Scott sounds a little ill.

“What? No, that’s totally true. When was the last time you saw anyone even blink an eye about someone being anywhere on the LGBTQ and other letters I may not realize have been added spectrum?”

“I meant the acid butt thing.”

The shampoo in the green and black bottle he’s holding smells like butt acid. He makes a face and put’s it back on the shelf, silently judging whatever company thought that was a thing anyone needed. “I haven’t personally seen or been sprayed by anything’s butt acid, but after the things we’ve seen I wouldn’t even be surprised.”

“Point… so anyway, what’s your plan?”

“Honestly when we were in high school you told me to never tell you about certain stuff so by sacred pact of best friendship, I can honestly tell you that you don’t want to know what my plan is.”

There’s this pause while Scott runs that through the filter Stiles knows Scott uses to translate him. He’s normally a lot faster, but Stiles isn’t going to fault him because the part of the brain that automatically tried to protect you from having sex related thoughts about people who were basically family was probably trying to save him.

“What? Oh…” there’s growing horror in Scott’s voice, “gross. Dude. I don’t want to think about you jerking off.”

“I didn’t say that the plan was jerking off,” the plan _is_ jerking off, that’s all he’s got at the moment, “I specifically tried to tell you to not think of the plan.”

“You know that doing… that… is probably just going to make the problem worse, right?”

“If you were going to assign a percentage to the amount of my ideas that have been good ones rather than bad ones, what would it be?”

“Ballpark?”

“Brutal honesty only.”

Stiles leaves his handheld shopping basket in the middle of the aisle, and crawls towards the end. There are more types of shampoo he hasn’t checked. He’s still holding his phone between his ear and his shoulder and bracing himself for whatever percentage Scott’s going to assign when someone comes around the end into the aisle and almost steps on his fingers.

“Whoa,” the last voice he wanted to hear says, “Sorry about that I wasn’t expecting someone on the floor. Do you need help?”

Stiles brings his head up, which causes him to drop his phone, and his face is basically at cock level with Deputy Parrish. “ _Fuck you, Nemeton,”_ he hisses under his breath. Stiles pulls his legs in to sit back on his heels and just looks up into Parrish’s eyes.

The deputy just sort of blinks at him, staring at him mutely, like he can’t even begin to understand how they ended up in this situation. Stiles is right there with him because it’s the kind of thing that would only happen to him. It’s pretty much the reason he told all his friends to get out of Beacon Hills as soon as they could. That and the crazy monsters who may or may not have butt related powers. That’s exactly the type of thing he shouldn’t be thinking about and it takes every ounce of willpower Stiles has, or will ever have, to not look away from Parrish’s eyes and at the guy’s crotch, which is basically less than a foot from his face.

He can sort of hear Scott’s voice coming from his phone on the ground, but he can’t make out what he’s saying. Leaning forward to pick it up is out of the question because Parrish is frozen like a deer in headlights and not backing up. Getting the phone may make it seem like Stiles is just going to go at Parrish’s dick like they aren’t in a supermarket aisle.

“Stiles? What are you doing? Are you okay?”

Parrish really was one of the only genuinely good people left in the world. Immediately he’s worried that someone else is hurt, or there’s something wrong. The idea that Stiles has spent like twenty minutes trying to find the shampoo he smelled in Parrish’s hair while they were grinding together probably hasn’t even crossed his mind.

He tries to scoot backwards to create some space between them, but the tops of his shoes don’t slide easily on the floor, so all he succeeds in doing is toppling onto his back. There isn’t a single moment in his life where he’s been more embarrassed, which is funny since he’d accidentally got caught with his dick poking out of the top of his pants a day ago by the very same deputy staring at him like he’s insane. Stiles rolls over and climbs up to his feet. He retreats down the aisle and picks up his basket.

“Yeah, I’m good. No problems at all. Just, you know, shopping,” he points at the basket he’s holding and there’s immediate regret as he remembers what’s in it.

Parrish’s eyebrows raise a bit as he looks. Stiles looks down, and yeah. The package of condoms, bottle of sex lubricant, and package of Oreos are crafting a story he never meant to share with anyone, let alone Deputy Parrish. Shopping baskets like that are the real reason self-service checkout lanes were invited.

Stiles looks around for a way to escape, and for the first time really takes in the damage he’s done to the men’s shampoo section. Like a good sixty percent of the bottles have clearly been moved, several sit in his ‘maybe’ pile on the floor.

“I see,” Parrish says. He leans over and picks up Stiles’s phone. “Looks like whoever you were talking to disconnected.” He doesn’t walk towards Stiles though, he’s just standing at the entrance of the aisle, surveying it like it’s an active crime scene. “Can’t find what you’re looking for?”

Stiles isn’t sure how, or even if, to answer that. Parrish holding his unlocked phone is also making him a little nervous. There’s basically no chance that the deputy is going to start pushing buttons or go looking through it, but Stiles has a lot of things on there that no else should probably see. People made jokes about browser histories, but an unlocked phone could reveal some really crazy shit about a person.

Mentally shaking himself, he smiles. Everything was fine. Nothing strange going on here at all. Running into Parrish in the supermarket wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him. It was close, but not the worst. He’d been considering how he could ‘accidentally’ run into him to apologize, but he’d only come up with getting arrested or a speeding ticket. Neither of those were good plans. They were Stiles plans, but they weren’t good ones.

“I wanted to apologize,” Stiles says, and tries to ignore that Parrish goes rigid, starts looking very uncomfortable. “Yesterday was…” Stiles just lets it hang because he’s not sure what yesterday was honestly.

“Unexpected,” Parrish says.

The deputy is the picture of uncomfortable. He’s avoiding eye contact, and subconsciously brings the basket he’s holding in front of himself. His lips are a thin line, nothing even resembling a smile on his face. It hurts, but Stiles is getting the message loud and clear.

“Yeah, my bad. I think I just misread… everything. I’ll see you around.” He spins around to leave but pauses when Parrish clears his throat. Holding his breath, he turns around back towards the deputy.

Parrish holds up Stiles’s phone. “I don’t think you want to leave without this.”

Stiles closes his eyes, lets out a sigh and then reluctantly approaches. He holds out his hand, and Parrish drops his cell into it. “Yeah, thanks.”

He’s about to step back and flee like the coward that he is, but Parrish leans forward and Stiles freezes. Not sure what’s happening and not wanting to fuck it up he just stands there. Parrish isn’t leaning in for a kiss, or to whisper something though, instead he grabs a bottle of shampoo off the shelf. Stiles is expecting him to be on his way, but instead he presses the bottle into Stiles’s chest.

“This is what you’re looking for.”

Stiles takes the bottle almost fumbling it when Parrish let’s go. The deputy’s expression is totally blank, and Stiles is more confused than ever. Parrish leans in again, grabbing another bottle of the same shampoo and drops it into his own basket. His basket also has condoms, and sex lubricant, though different brands than what Stiles picked up. There aren’t any Oreos, there’s like kale, _bananas_ , and other stuff that probably help contribute to Parrish’s perfect body.

They’re just standing there, and Stiles is afraid to open his mouth because he has no idea what’s happening, but it seems like Parrish is trying to decide something. Stiles is never going to admit it ever, but his mind whispers a silent prayer to the Nemeton and all the fucked-up _ness_ that is Beacon Hills. Just once, just this one time he wants it to not completely screw him over.

“Give me your phone,” Parrish says.

Stiles unlocks it and hands it over, and just keeps his mouth closed because that seems to be working. His friends would probably be insufferably smug about it, but it’s like he’s on the thinnest ice he’s ever been on, especially because no amount of ice has a chance in hell of lasting long in Parrish’s presence.

The deputy hits a string of ten numbers and then the call button. Almost immediately another phone rings, and it’s obviously Parrish’s in his pocket or wherever. He disconnects the call on Stiles’s phone and presses it into Stiles’s chest just like he had the shampoo.

“On my terms,” Parrish says, and once Stiles takes the phone Parrish walks past him and out of the aisle.

Stiles stares down at the phone in his hand like he doesn’t know what it does, and he has no idea what on Parrish’s terms is supposed to mean. He doesn’t want to think about it in the middle of a supermarket though. He’s never gone through a checkout lane faster in his life, but he’s high on something that feels adjacent to victory. He texts Scott saying he’ll explain later and drives home fast enough that he really does risk getting a speeding ticket.

His dad is watching something on the television, but Stiles just kind of rushes past him, tossing him the package of Oreos because everyone deserved to have as good a day as him. He leaves a trail of clothes along the bathroom floor, almost tripping as he steps out of his underwear. He’s done a lot of experimenting with water temperature and he cranks up the shower’s heat one step past what he was able to stand last time.

It takes forever for the bathroom mirror to start steaming over, which is his sign that the time is finally right. He grabs the shampoo from the plastic bag, not even giving a shit that the condoms and lube hit the bathroom floor in his haste. That’s a problem for future Stiles, he can pick up once he’s done with the shower.

He steps in, leading with his shoulder to take the initial near boiling impact of the water. He turns, because the heat is a degree or two past the edge of being painful. Steam roils around him, and he gasps as the burning water trials down his spine and over his ass. His dick goes from interested to rock hard, and he takes a step back so that the water beats against his head and neck. He trembles as it pours over his shoulders and down his chest. His nipples are not crazy sensitive, but they didn’t need to be with the level of hot water he’s using.

It’s a little hard to breath in the steam, but he likes the edge of desperation it makes him feel as he pants in the shower’s enclosed space. A breeze of cool air cuts against the back of his thigh like a knife, making him gasp. He turns, trying to better seal the shower curtain against the wall on both sides, wanting to trap as much of the heat as possible. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it or not but his pale skin seems like it’s got a bit of pink or reddish tinge to it, but he doesn’t care because he’s getting what he wants.

He fumbles the cap of the shampoo open and pours way too much of it in his hand. He let’s his head fall forward out of the stream of water, letting it beat down on his shoulders and starts lathering the shampoo into his hair. Even to his normal human senses the scent of it permeates the space. He rinses his hands off, then leans forward. He tries bracing one hand against the wall of the shower, but it takes a bit of adjusting of the shower head. Eventually he gets the angle right so it’s pounding between his shoulder blades as he leans.

He’s been hard since the water touched his skin, and he needs to get moving. It’s always that moment that he savors, when he’s been hard and it’s getting to be too much, and the need is like a living thing. The way his dick strains when he finally wraps his fingers around it makes him bite his lips. Sometimes he likes to take his time, but his nerves are frayed, and he knows the water is too hot, but so good. His grip is tight, and he twists every time he goes up over the head. It makes his legs wobble, so he takes his other hand off the wall, adjusts his feet and widens his stance a bit so that the water is still where he needs it against his spine.

His eyes are closed tightly, because the shampoo is dripping down his face, but he doesn’t care because he has the heat, and the scent and it’s exactly what he wants, or as close as he can get to it anyway. He reverses the grip he’s stroking himself with to change the sensation, he doesn’t often go at himself like that and the unfamiliarity of it makes his balls draw up. He raises his other hand up into the water, then rakes his fingers through his hair because it feels like he’s flooding the shower with the smell again.

Once his lungs and brain are full of the memories of Parrish’s hair and his skin is surround by a heat close to but different than Parrish’s body, he starts chasing the spike of pleasure he needs. The muscles in his arm are strained as he tries to increase the speed, and his fingers ache a little because his grip is tight, close to the edge of painful. He rubs at his stomach, then slides his hand down to play with his balls, rolling them, but he needs more. He lets them go and digs his nails into his thigh, then drags them up to his belly, raking along sensitive skin. He worries he’s leaving scratches on himself but doesn’t care because he’s getting close to the edge. He grips his dick at the base with one hand, and rather than go for full base to tip strokes he just focuses on twisting around the head and just underneath.

That’s the push that he needs, and he almost loses his balance as his dick starts pulsing. He strokes himself through it, letting his head fall against the tile of the wall and the comparative coolness of it makes his head spin. His skin, or maybe his blood has acclimated to the temperature in the shower, so he takes his time lazily soaping himself. He washes his hair twice, and his dick tries to give an interested twitch when the smell and the memory pour over him again, but he’s worn out.

He takes his time drying off, because his skin is oversensitive, and he wants to delay the moment he steps out of the bathroom. That’s the downside of this new thing he’s doing of jerking it in as hot an environment as he can find. Regular comfortable temperatures are starting to feel a little too chilly. He couldn’t afford the delay it would have taken to get fresh clothes from his suitcase in his room, so he just wraps a towel around his hips and calls it good enough.

The mirror is shrouded in condensation, but it doesn’t really matter because his plans for the rest of the evening consist of lying in bed and replaying the events of the past few days in his mind to try to figure out what the hell he’s going to do. Maybe go downstairs at some point for ice cream because he needs to hit the other temperature extreme in the hope that he won’t be living in a constant state of feeling like all his pants are too tight. Maybe binge watch something to try to get his brain to shut the fuck up for a few hours.

He fishes his cell out of the pocket of the jeans he’d worn to the store. It’s blinking to let him know he’s got a message or email. It takes a couple tries to get the phone unlocked because his skin’s damp. The text is from an unknown number, and he holds his breath hoping it’s from Parrish. Looking at his call log to confirm would delay him reading it so he figure’s he’ll get to that later. The message is an address, a time, and _Tomorrow night._

There’s something so incredibly Deputy Parrish about the fact that the text message has every word fully spelled out, and it’s all properly capitalized, and punctuated. On the surface it seems like Parrish is as vanilla as the ice cream that Stiles would absolutely love to share with him, or maybe just eat off him one day. He looks up the address thinking it’s Parrish’s, but it’s a motel on the outskirts of town, and it makes him wonder what he’s signing up for. He agonizes over how to respond for so long that the heat in the bathroom starts to dissipate, so he just settles on ‘ok’.

Stiles picks up the clothes he’d hastily discarded to get into the shower, along with he condoms and lube. Once he’s dressed again, he heads downstairs to have dinner. He promises himself he’s not going to obsess over what the text means, but it’s all he can think about, even as he shovels ice cream into his mouth and fails to pay attention to whatever his dad is watching.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Stiles has driven past the motel like five times. It’s not his fault though because he’s had several bad experiences in motels that look like they smell like sex and regret, and not just the time Scott had almost burned himself alive. Stiles has made some legitimate fucking mistakes in places like this one.

Parrish inviting him to a motel on the edge of town that likely a not insignificant number of people had lost their virginities in meant something. He’s still narrowing down his list, but the current front runner is that the place is haunted, and he needs backup. The alarm on his phone goes off, and sure, technically it was the fourth alarm, but he was _barely_ neurotically counting each minute until he was out of time.

He turns his rental around and pulls into what he hopes is not his final resting place. There’s no new messages from Parrish on his phone, so he’s still just working from the cryptic, ‘on my terms’ he got in the supermarket. Looking around the parking lot he spies Parrish’s car, not his cruiser, his boring regular person car. There’s no one in it though, so he’s stuck waiting for instructions. He sends a text saying he’s arrived.

  1. _Lock the door behind you._



Stiles reads the message twice. The rooms are all accessed from the building’s exterior, and 250 is likely the last room on the second floor. He gets out of the car, locking it behind him, and he regrets it immediately because the little honk the rental makes sounds deafening in the otherwise silent lot.

This is easily the most elaborate plot to murder him that he’s taken part in, which is saying something because he’s been through some shit. He’s not proud of it, but he does basically run up to the building and the metal stairs that lead to the second floor, taking them two at a time.

Standing in the dingy light of the upper walkway makes him feel a little less terrified than in the shadowed parking lot below. The air is chilly, he can see his breath in front of his face. He assures himself that’s not because of the ghosts watching him hungrily from beyond the thin layer that separated his world from theirs, that it’s just because it got cold at night. The problem was he was a shitty liar, so it wasn’t very convincing.

He makes his way towards the end of the building, and the numbers on the doors are going up. That means he’s heading in the right direction. Even from where he’s at he can see the door at the end is partially cracked open. None of the lights in the rooms he’s passing are on. It wasn’t late enough that occupants would be asleep, so he had to assume they were empty. There wasn’t any loud moans coming from the rooms, so it didn’t seem likely that people were fucking in them, or that they were occupied by the restless dead.

God, he hated this town sometimes. In other places people would assume that a lot of drug trafficking, prostitution, or both occurred in the motel, but in Beacon Hills, the safe bet was that it was a portal to hell, or a nest of were-pterodactyls.

Shifting nervously between his feet, he wraps his knuckles on the door. There’s no response except for a creepy squeaking as the unoiled hinges move under the impacts. The curtain is drawn, so he can’t see inside, but there’s faint illumination visible along the edges, so maybe a light in the bathroom or something is on.

Holding his breath, he pulls the door open. He could call out for Parrish, but if the deputy is trying to get a drop on the were-pterodactyl ghosts he wouldn’t appreciate Stiles blowing it. There aren’t dinosaurs of any kind inside the room, but there’s someone kneeling on the bed. A naked male someone.

Stiles’s mouth dries out, and he quickly pulls the door closed, locking it as instructed. What the hell was Parrish thinking leaving it open? What if the cleaning staff had come to check on him? Although to be fair that was probably more far fetched than the shapeshifting dinosaur ghosts that Stiles had imagined, and Jesus he hates his brain because why is he thinking about anything other than the fact that Parrish is kneeling on the bed naked?

He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to say something or if he’s just supposed to do something. It’s not a dream, because he knows dreams and if this is one, he’ll be waking up hard and sticky in three, two—

Parrish shifts, burying his face into the mattress and pushing his hips back. It’s hard to make him out in the dim light of the room but it is Parrish. The deputy brings one hand back, curls his fingers into his ass while Stiles stares at him, mouth hanging open. Parrish is hard, dick hanging heavy between his legs like he’d been using his fingers while waiting for Stiles to get there.

_“On my terms.”_

That’s what Parrish had said. Was this what he meant, like he had this fantasy of being fucked in a shitty motel by some anonymous guy? Stiles is supposed to be that guy for him? He takes a few steps forward, like he’s in a trance. Parrish doesn’t look back over his shoulder though, just keeps his face buried in the mattress.

Stiles brings his hands up and starts unbuckling his belt. The metal scraping on metal gets to Parrish, because his dick twitches between his legs, and his arm strains to get more of his fingers in his ass. It’s where Stiles wants his dick to be, so he walks forward to get a better view.

There’s so much that Stiles wants to do. He wants to get down on his knees, push Parrish’s fingers away and replace them with his tongue. Wants to mouth at Parrish’s balls, run his tongue down the length of his dick to see what he tastes like, to find out if it’s all he’d dreamed about and more.

The thing is, it’s not about what Stiles wants. It’s supposed to be about what Parrish wants, supposed to be on his terms. Stiles slides his belt out of the loops of his jeans. He doesn’t have a tie, but he can make it work.

“Look at you,” Stiles says. “Couldn’t even wait.”

He grips Parrish’s wrist, pulls his hand away from his ass, and there’s this sound as his fingers slide out that makes Stiles’s jeans feel like they’re a couple sizes too small. He starts winding his belt around Parrish’s wrist, and once he’s got a few loops going he reaches to grab Parrish’s other wrist, winding it up too. The deputy groans into the mattress, and his legs start shaking a bit, like he can’t wait for Stiles to get inside him.

He holds Parrish’s bound wrists in one hand solidly against his back. Thumbs open his jeans and pushes them down his legs along with his underwear. Stiles is so hard that getting out into the air is a relief, but it’s not what he really needs. He grips his dick by the base, slaps it down against Parrish’s already wet hole.

“This is what you want isn’t it?” He presses his hips forward, sliding his dick up and over Parrish’s ass rather than pressing into him, and there’s this moan that’s close to begging but not quite close enough.

It makes Stiles’s balls ache, but he pulls back from the heat of Parrish’s ass. He keeps a firm hold on his belt, which prevents Parrish from rocking back. The fact that he tries, that Stiles can see how badly Parrish wants his dick is worth it. He gives himself a quick stroke, from base to tip to take the edge off.

“I’m not even the first one who’s been here, tonight. That’s why you’re such a mess.” Stiles rubs his thumb over Parrish’s hole, pressing lightly but not enough to get inside him. “My buddy said you were such a hot fuck. All sweat slick skin and tight heat. Told me what room you were in.”

Parrish looks like he’s worked himself open, and Stiles knows that he could just slide in, and it’s what he wants so bad, but the noises Parrish is making against the bed because he hasn’t are too good.

“I should make you beg for it.”

The muscles in Parrish’s arms tremble, like it’s taking everything he has to not try to pull free, to push back. He stays as still as he can, so Stiles rewards him by sliding his dick against Parrish’s hole again. He presses the head in, just for a moment, just to test the heat of his body then draws his hips back and slips free again. It’s more than he’s expecting. He wants to get back inside, but it’s still not supposed to be about what he wants.

“Fuck,” Parrish hisses against the bed, and he sounds broken.

“Good, boy,” Stiles says. “That’s a good, boy. Stay still.”

Stiles takes a step closer, rests the bottom of his dick against Parrish’s ass again. His skin is so fucking hot that Stiles isn’t sure how long he’ll last once he really does get inside him.

“Show me how much you want it.”

Parrish doesn’t move at first, like he’s not sure if he’s being tricked into doing something he’s not supposed to. Stiles helps him out by pulling on the belt he’s got twisted around the deputy’s wrists, encouraging him. Parrish uses the muscles in his neck and shoulders to slide back further on the bed, moves his ass up and down to let Stiles slide against his skin, pushes back further to trap Stiles’s dick between them.

Parrish let’s out a ragged breath, almost exactly like when they were grinding together in the Lake House, but this time it’s so much better because there’s no clothing in the way. He sounds like he’s at the limit of what he can take, and Stiles doesn’t want to ruin the fantasy for Parrish by working him up enough that he accidentally says Stiles’s name. He pulls away, and the deputy makes this sound that’s almost like a frustrated sob. Stiles wants to sooth him, but a random fuck boy Parrish found on the internet probably wouldn’t do that.

He makes up for it the only way he can, by pressing the head of his dick against Parrish and sliding in agonizingly slow. He’s going slow because he wants to tease Parrish, to set his nerves on edge, at least that’s what he keeps telling himself. Stiles bites his lips hard enough that he almost draws blood, but he doesn’t care because he’s wanted this so badly. It’s hard to think because there’s so much heat he feels like his spine is melting but it doesn’t matter because his body knows what it wants to do and doesn’t give a shit that his brain can’t keep up.

He snaps his hips, and the impact drives Parrish forward across the mattress. Stiles uses his grip on the belt to pull him back, and this low rumbling noise rolls through the room. He doesn’t know which one of them is making it though because how is anyone supposed to be able to think with fire racing through their blood, burning them from the inside out.

Stiles should probably be saying shit, like how tight Parrish is, how the heat and friction is torching his brain, but he can barely focus. He apologies by pressing Parrish’s hips down, then getting his knees up on the bed so he can drive down into him harder and at a better angle. Parrish doesn’t complain, he just grunts every time their hips slap together, so Stiles focuses on that, on trying to fuck him through the mattress.

In the Lake House he’d screwed up, probably in more ways than he realizes. This was his chance to make up for that, to give Parrish something he wanted, instead of trying to manipulate him. Using the leverage of the belt around Parrish’s wrists Stiles turns him on his side as he fucks him, not enough that Parrish couldn’t keep his face against the mattress if he doesn’t want to look at Stiles and break the fantasy, but enough that he can get his free hand around Parrish’s dick.

He’s rock-hard, and as soon as Stiles gets his fingers around him Parrish let’s out this tortured noise in the back of his throat that settles low in Stiles’s stomach. The switch in angle seems to be delivering what Parrish needs, because the tip of his dick is slick and dripping. He strokes hard and fast, causing Parrish to curl in on himself a bit when Stiles’s grip rides up over the head.

For just a moment Stiles lets him go, brings his palm up to his mouth and licks across it. Tonight is supposed to be entirely about Parrish, but Stiles is too selfish to pass up the chance in case he never gets another. Sure, part of it is because he wants to give a slicker friction, but he also just needs to taste Parrish so bad he can’t help himself.

It’s so good it makes his head spin, and he knows he shouldn’t have done it because now he’s dancing on the edge of losing it. Stiles spits into his palm, gets his hand back on Parrish’s dick, tight and unforgiving. He uses the impact of his hips against Parrish’s ass to drive the deputy forward, through the slick grip.

The room is so fucking hot that Stiles swears that if he ever get’s a chance to fuck Parrish again he’s going to take all his damn clothes off. His pants and underwear are tangled around his ankles, and his shirt is sticking to his back, and even though he’s complaining it doesn’t really matter because he’s forcing short gasping breaths out of Parrish’s lungs.

“You’re so close I can smell it on you,” Stiles says, and he hopes it’s true because he’s not going to last much longer. Everything is too much, his skin feels too tight, and his whole body is begging him to let himself go.

He watches in fascination the way Parrish’s abdominal muscles flex, how his mouth falls open like he can’t get enough air into his lungs. Stiles’s grip is so tight around Parrish that when he comes he can feel every pulse. He changes the rhythm of his hips, timing the impacts to match, and it seems like it drives the deputy crazy because he just groans deliriously with what little air he has.

Stiles makes it another minute, maybe two tops but it’s hard to tell because all he can think about is being trapped in the slick, tight, heat of Parrish’s body. He grinds his hips down and sweet relief crashes over him as the fire in his blood finally gutters out.

His head is spinning, but he manages to get himself up and off Parrish. Getting his pants and underwear situated is a fucking nightmare, but it’s not as bad as unwinding his belt. By the time he gets it free he just drops it to the motel floor. Fuck belts. He needs to get out of the room because the heat pressing down on him makes it seem like he can’t breathe. He staggers to the door. His hands are shakey, but he manages to unlock and yank it open, sticking his head out into blessedly cool air. He stands there in the doorway for a few moments, waiting to see if Parrish will say something. He doesn’t, and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s because it doesn’t fit with the fantasy, or if it’s something else.

_“On my terms.”_

Stiles still isn’t sure exactly what it means, but he let’s the motel room door close behind him and heads back to his car. All he can do is wait and see. He adjusts his rear-view mirror to look at himself, and he looks wrecked, his hair is all fucked up and he has the stupidest smile on his face.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

It’s when the red and blue lights start flashing that Stiles finally accepts that his life has gone completely off the rails. Like yeah, sure, he’s gone through some crazy shit so his scale for what constitutes on the rails is pretty skewed, but even he has to admit that things are spiraling out of control. He pulls over to the side of the road, putting his rental in park and making sure his hands are clearly visible on the wheel.

There’s something wrong with him. There’d always been something wrong with him, but it’s gotten worse since he’s come home. Whatever instinct people were born with that helped keep them out of crazy situations just never worked right for him. It was like the Evil Kermit meme, except that there was no balancing side, both Kermits were the Emperor suggesting he make bad choices.

There’s a tap on the window, and he’s so preoccupied with his thoughts that it startles him, even though he’s very familiar with police procedure. He takes one hand off the wheel and hits the button to roll the window down.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car.”

“Did I do something wrong, officer?” Stiles isn’t sure the details of what this is supposed to be, or how it’s supposed to go down. All he knows is that he’s supposed to be on this backwoods road in the middle of the night.

“Please step out of the car.”

Under normal circumstances Stiles wouldn’t get out of a car in the middle of nowhere Beacon Hills regardless of who asked him, but he’s quickly finding out that there’s very little he wouldn’t do if asked by Parrish.

“Yes, sir,” he says as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door.

“Turn around and put your hands on the vehicle.”

Stiles does as he’s told because he’s interested in seeing where this goes. Parrish uses one of his feet to bump against Stiles’s shoes directing him to widen his stance as he’s leaning against the car. His dick gives an interested twitch, and he bites his lower lip because he’s not expecting to discover an interest in being ordered around by an officer. Parrish pats him down, checking him for weapons, or maybe to see if he’s getting hard, though he’s taking his time before getting his hands on Stiles’s dick.

“What’s this about, officer?”

“We found evidence at a crime scene that we believe is linked to you.”

Parrish is so close to him that Stiles can feel the deputy’s breath on the back of his neck, and it makes his toes curl a bit. Strong firm hands pat down his sides and he barely manages to keep his hips still, and yeah, he’s learning some things about himself.

“W-what evidence?” So, what if his voice cracks a bit? One of Parrish’s hands is going up his inner thigh brushing up against his balls, and the other is sliding around the waist of his jeans. His breath is a little ragged, but who could blame him?

“A belt,” Parrish says, lips brushing against Stiles’s ear. He plays with the button of Stiles’s jeans, thumb sliding slightly under the waistband of his boxers. “You seem to be missing yours.”

Memories crash over Stiles like a boiling wave. How he’d coiled his belt around Parrish’s wrists and then fucked him like both their lives depended on it. How the room had been so hot he couldn’t think, he’d dropped his belt on the floor and walked out into the cool night air.

He let’s out a tortured breath because he’s getting hard, but his dick is trapped at a weird angle. “Is there…” Stiles pants out, “is there something I can do to convince you to let me go?”

The hand between Stiles’s legs pulls away, and he’s a little embarrassed about the noise of protest he makes in the back of his throat. Parrish drags blunt nails along Stiles’s belly and it’s so distracting that Stiles doesn’t fully connect what the jingling metal sound means until the handcuffs come down on one of his wrists clicking into place tightly, maybe a little too tightly. Parrish twists Stiles’s arms behind his back and then snaps the other cuff into place.

“What did you have in mind?”

Stiles doesn’t know what he has in mind because the night just took an abrupt turn he wasn’t expecting. He gasps as Parrish keeps one hand on the chain linking the cuffs and then grips the back of his shirt collar pulling him away from his rental.

He spins Stiles around and marches him back towards his police cruiser. It’s not an easy walk because there’s enough pressure on Stiles’s wrists and arms to remind him that he’s _bound,_ and his dick is straining hard against his fly.

“W-whatever you want, sir. Please.” Stiles isn’t even faking how unsure he is, but on some level he’s like ninety nine percent sure that if he told Parrish to stop, the scenario would end abruptly.

Parrish spins him around, and his eyes are so _blue_ that Stiles can’t think. The deputy brushes a thumb along Stiles’s bottom lip and he’s got this look, like he knows what he wants and he’s waiting for Stiles to get there too. Stiles knows that his mouth is one of his best and worst assets. It’s always drawing attention, whether because of the stupid shit he babbles about or the fact that he licks his lips a lot.

All in. He’s been all in from the moment that random cam session connected the two of them. He locks gazes with Parrish, licks his lips, and starts sliding down to his knees. The deputy doesn’t break away, he watches, and fuck, Stiles really wishes he could use his hands because he’s painfully hard. He expects Parrish to unzip, to get himself out so that Stiles can give him the first blow job he’s ever given anyone, but he doesn’t. He just watches.

It’s pointless but Stiles strains against the cuffs locking his hands behind his back. Heat floods his face. He’s on his knees on the side of the road, and he needs another taste of Parrish. Licking his palm after he’d been jerking the deputy off was a memory that played itself over and over as he’d fallen asleep that night, but it wasn’t enough. Parrish is into what’s happening though. Stiles can feel it coming off him, rolling waves of heat.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath. He’s already sweating, and they’ve barely started. He finally breaks eye contact, letting his eyes travel down Parrish’s body. His uniform is tight, and he’s got his thumbs tucked into his belt, waiting. Stiles can _see_ the outline of Parrish’s dick, which means he’s probably not wearing underwear. The realization sends fire racing down his spine.

Stiles leans in, mouthing at Parrish through his pants. He’s hard, maybe as hard as Stiles and that just winds Stiles up tighter. He gets his teeth on Parrish’s zipper and drags it down, trying to free his dick. That seems to be what pushes the deputy’s patience past the limit. He gets a firm grip in the front of Stiles’s hair and pushes him away, holding him in place. Stiles fucking _whines_ , licking his lips and he just looks up at Parrish, begging him with his eyes.

“This what you want?” Parrish asks, using his free hand to get his dick out through his open fly. He doesn’t undo his belt or pants, just get’s his dick out and steps forward so it’s less than an inch away from Stiles’s mouth.

“Yes,” Stiles says, a little breathless and a little ashamed. He refuses to close his eyes though. His legs shake a little bit, and he pulls uselessly against the cuffs. He strains his neck forward. Parrish’s grip in his hair is just on the edge of painful. He sticks his tongue out trying to close the little bit of distance, but Parrish pulls his dick up out of the way.

“Yes?”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles tries, butterflies rolling through his stomach. It’s what Parrish seems to want though because he takes a slight step forward, slowly lowering his dick back towards Stiles’s mouth.

“Easy,” Parrish says, using his grip on Stiles’s hair to keep him from leaning forward to meet him. Stiles is so fucking hard it’s painful, but he stays still, looking up at Parrish. He let’s his mouth fall open, tongue just barely out and _waits_. “Easy,” Parrish says again, but it’s anything but easy.

Stiles feels the heat of Parrish’s dick moments before the tip comes to rest against his tongue. He _groans_ , letting out a relieved breath and tries to wrap his lips around it, but Parrish keeps him in place. Desperately Stiles licks out, tongue curling up under the head of Parrish’s dick and over the slit. Parrish lets it happen, and Stiles makes an inarticulate noise of gratitude, laps against the tip of his dick a few times but doesn’t try to get more, just tries to enjoy what he’s being given.

“Good, boy,” Parrish says, and Stiles’s dick twitches like it was the one being complimented. Parrish takes a slight step back though, pulling out of reach. Rather than struggle, Stiles waits, looking up at him and trying to get his breathing under control. The deputy watches him, stroking himself, but not relaxing his grip in Stiles’s hair. “What do you want?”

“To taste you more,” Stiles says immediately, trying to make all the need roiling around in his stomach visible in his eyes. “Please, sir.”

Parrish drags his thumb over the head of his dick, and the movement finally causes Stiles to look away from Parrish’s eyes. There’s a thin line stretched out between Parrish’s dick and his thumb. Stiles’s licks his lips, waiting. _Hoping._

“This is what you want?” Parrish brings his thumb to Stiles’s mouth. Stiles’s sucks at it greedily, working his tongue and lips, tries to show Parrish what he’s missing by being such a fucking cock tease. The deputy lets out this tortured noise and it takes all Stiles’s self-control not to let out a satisfied groan. Finally, _finally_ , Parrish steps in closer, pulls his thumb out of Stiles’s mouth and let’s go of Stiles’s hair.

Not wanting to give the deputy the chance to change his mind, Stiles leans forward, almost losing his balance on his knees and wraps his lips around Parrish’s dick. Not sure of how long he’s going to be allowed to do what he wants. Stiles chokes himself at first in his enthusiasm, trying to take as much into his mouth as he can. He gags a bit, and an irrational fear creeps through the edges of his mind, like he’s not good enough and Parrish is going to pull away.

“Easy,” Parrish says, but instead of gripping Stiles’s hair again, he brushes a thumb over Stiles’s cheek, urging him to look up. Stiles does, but continues working his neck and mouth, sucking greedily and sliding his tongue along the fat vein on the underside of Parrish’s dick.

Stiles doesn’t want easy though. He’s greedy, wants more, harder, but he doesn’t know how to communicate it, isn’t sure that he could tell Parrish that even if he was willing to let him out of his mouth, which he isn’t.

Parrish gets it though, somehow, he gets it, because he takes a step forward, forcing Stiles backwards. Vertigo sweeps over him as he topples back. He manages to keep his teeth from scraping against Parrish’s dick as the deputy pins him against the cruiser, his head bouncing off the door. It stings, but it’s not a serious impact. Even if it had been Stiles doesn’t have time to think about it because Parrish starts shallowly fucking into his mouth. He get’s a firm grip in Stiles’s hair again, this time with both hands.

It’s sloppy and rough, Stiles can feel saliva dripping down his mouth and chin, but he doesn’t care because Parrish is fucking his mouth and it’s so hot it makes his balls ache. Stiles chokes a couple of times, but Parrish doesn’t back down, doesn’t slow or stop and its exactly how Stiles wants it. He sucks desperately, swallowing him down further with each thrust.

“Fuck,” Parrish groans, “so good.”

The rhythm of his hips changes, becomes erratic, and it should have been a warning to Stiles, but how could he think clearly with Deputy Parrish half way down his throat and bouncing his head off a car door? Parrish jerks his hips back, pulling free of Stiles’s mouth.

“No, no, please,” Stiles begs, even as the first hot pulse of fluid hits him in the face. Parrish’s legs shake and his grip in Stiles’s hair relaxs. Stiles manages to lean forward getting Parrish back into his mouth and greedily sucking him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Parrish says as he leans forward pinning Stiles back against the cruiser, but he doesn’t pull away even though his legs are shaking.

Stiles is delirious, but he doesn’t care. Parrish lets him keep going. Stiles’s hips are twitching thrusting up, trying to get some sort of friction to his dick even if it’s just rubbing the inside of his too tight pants. His wrists and arms hurt, but he doesn’t care. Parrish staggers back enough that there’s this dirty pop as his dick pulls free of Stiles’s mouth.

“Please,” Stiles begs again, but he’s so out of it that he’s not sure exactly what he’s asking for.

Parrish kneels in front of him, reaches out and wipes his thumb through the fluid on Stiles’s face. “You’re going to let this go to waste after how hard you worked for it?” Stiles opens his mouth, eagerly licking at the deputy’s fingers.

Without warning Parrish seizes Stiles by the front of his shirt and hauls him to his feet. It makes his head spin and before he realizes what’s happening Parrish slams him down onto the hood of the cruiser, knocking the breath out of him. He lets his head fall forward, his cheek resting against the hood, the cold metal a relief against his fevered skin. He’s not sure what’s happening at first until he feels Parrish’s hands sliding around his waist and unzipping his jeans.

For one terrifying moment he thinks Parrish is about to fuck him over the hood of the cruiser, and he’s not sure if he’s okay with that, but the deputy doesn’t yank his pants down, just reaches in through his zipper searching around for the fly of Stiles’s boxers.

Stiles let’s out an embarrassing noise when Parrish finally get’s his dick out. He tries to get enough footing to thrust his hips, to fuck into Parrish’s grip, but the deputy kicks his feet further apart, making him rest his weight on the hood of the car.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasps.

Parrish doesn’t say anything though, just grips the handcuffs holding Stiles’s hands behind his back and pins him in place. Stiles is about to finally protest, to tell Parrish to let him go, but right when he’s about to break Parrish finally wraps Stiles’s dick in a tight fist and starts pumping him. Stiles’s feet scrabble uselessly at the ground and all he can do is pant and grunt at brutal pace.

Parrish’s hand is slick from Stiles licking and sucking at his fingers and he relentlessly strokes from the base of Stiles’s dick up a few times before focusing on twisting around the head. It’s too much and Stiles comes so hard he feels like he’d have broken his spine if Parrish wasn’t so completely pinning him against the car. Gently Parrish tucks Stiles’s dick back into his pants and zips him up.

Stiles is so dazed, so completely blissed out it takes him a second to realize Parrish has slipped his hands under Stiles’s shirt, stroking his sides and back, trying to comfort and calm him down, trying to get him to stop shaking.

“Are you okay?”

Stiles nods, but the truth is he’s not sure if he’s okay. His head is spinning. Parrish undoes the handcuffs, and immediately starts massaging Stiles’s wrists and arms. It feels so good that Stiles stays leaning over the car, letting Parrish stroke and pet his arms and back, pushing back into his hands when they slip back under his shirt.

“Sorr—”

“No way,” Stiles cuts Parrish off, finally getting his feet under him and standing up. “That was awesome.”

Parrish leans in, and Stiles thinks he’s going to kiss him, so it’s a little awkward when instead he grips Stiles by the chin and turns his head to the side, using his other hand to rub along the back of Stiles’s head like he’s checking to see if there is a bump or something forming from where his head had been slammed into the cruiser door.

“I’m fine,” Stiles says, slapping Parrish hands away.

The deputy takes a step back, but Stiles grabs him by the front of his uniform and pulls him forward kissing him. Parrish’s whole body seizes up for a moment, like he doesn’t know what to do, but after a second, he kisses Stiles back. Eventually Parrish tries to pull away and Stiles lets him go.

“This is good,” Stiles says. He gestures at Parrish and then at himself. “We’re good. Right?”

Parrish looks away, keeps his eyes focused on the ground. He doesn’t say anything. For Stiles it feels like being stabbed in the chest. He sucks in air, but it feels like glass shards fill his lungs instead.

“I said on my terms,” Parrish says, and it’s like another knife plunging into Stiles. “I’m not looking for… for…”

“Bullshit.”

Parrish tries to back away, to create some space between them, but Stiles still has a hold on his uniform and doesn’t let him go. Tension floods through Stiles’s body, an adrenaline spike as he realizes this could quickly turn into something like the Lake House, but before it does, he let’s go. Parrish takes a step back.

“I’m not… You should find someone else. Someone… real.”

Stiles has no idea what that’s even supposed to mean. Real? If Parrish wasn’t real who’d tried to smash his head through a car door with their dick?

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Jordan Parrish died.”

“What?”

Parrish starts pacing, and Stiles gets that, because when he’s thinking he needs to move too. Whatever was going on, clearly Parrish had thought about it a lot, but maybe hadn’t ever gotten it out, had just kept it bottled up and let it eat at him.

“He died. Jordan Parrish died, I’m just this Jordan Parrish shaped… thing. The Hellhound. That’s—”

“That’s bullshit.”

Deputy Parrish turns on him, anger flashing through his eyes. He seizes Stiles by the front of his shirt, pulling him forward. “You don’t even know me! Who I was!”

Stiles twists in Parrish’s grip, getting a foot out to set him off balance. He yanks the deputy sideways, spinning him and pinning him back against the cruiser.

“I don’t know _Jordan_ Parrish. But I know _Deputy_ Parrish.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“By the time you became a part of everyone’s lives here in Beacon Hills you were already this version of you. So yeah, I don’t know Jordan, but I know Parrish, and I really like him, so _fuck you_ for trying to take him away from me.”

Parrish looks stunned, mouth hanging open.

“But I’m not—”

Stiles pulls Parrish forward, then slams him back against the cruiser again. Not hard enough to hurt him, but to make a point. To try to shake some sense into him.

“People think Deputy Parrish is awesome. _Fuck_ Jordan Parrish. My dad needs Deputy Parrish. Beacon Hills needs the Hellhound. Lydia might like Jordan Parrish, but she also dated Jackson, so she has questionable taste.”

Parrish gives him this _look_. “Lydia also dated you.”

“Shut up,” Stiles says, because… because.

“And you?”

“And me what?”

“What do you think about Parrish?”

Stiles laughs, because he’s been asking himself that same question every day since he’d jerked off with him for the first time. “I think that I want to do more than have sex in creepy motels and on the side of the road.”

There’s conflict all over Parrish’s face. It was like he’d had a mask on for so long and Stiles was only just now getting to see under it. He’d been carrying this weight around, this fear of who and what he was for so long and not letting anyone see him struggling with it.

“I get it,” Stiles says. “You feel like something in you has changed. That some fundamental piece of who you are, who you were, you lost it, and you’ll never get back to being who you were before that change.”

In some ways they’d experienced different versions of a similar thing. Sometimes, when Stiles was alone in the dark, he was afraid that he wasn’t himself, that he was still trapped in a dream and he couldn’t even wake up screaming. Sometimes it was better not to sleep at all.

“We’ve all been through some crazy shit,” Stiles says. “The thing that gets us through, it’s the connections we make. The people whose lives are connected to ours that anchor us, bring us back.”

Parrish nods. “I don’t have many people like that.”

Stiles leans in, giving him every opportunity to pull away. He doesn’t though, so he kisses him and for a second, they’re breathing the same air, and it’s kind of perfect.

“So,” Parrish says. “If we did do something other than fuck in creepy motels and on the side of the road, what would it be?”

“I don’t know. Have dinner? See a movie? Share an ice-cream cone? Fuck with _both_ of us naked for once?”

Parrish makes this face like he’s mulling it over. “I don’t know, that sounds pretty vanilla.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles says. “I’ll blindfold you.”

“Sold.”

“Wait what?”

Parrish grins at him. “Dinner, a movie, ice-cream, and then you fuck me while I’m blindfolded. Text me and I’ll be there.”

“And we’ll both be naked.”

“Sure,” Parrish laughs. “If it’s that important to you, we’ll both be naked. Minus the blindfold of course.”

“Dude, you realize that fucking you is like sticking my dick in a blast furnace, right?”

The look Parrish gives him is priceless.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

“Media has lied to us for years,” Stiles says.

“Is this a porn thing?” Parrish practically hisses the question under his breath as they walk away from the ice-cream parlor.

Stiles glances around, it’s late, closing time for the shop and there aren’t really any families and children around, just a couple of women one of which is eyeing Parrish like he’s a snack that’s on the menu. There’s no way he’s letting her think that she’s got any chance in… well in hell of getting with _his_ hellhound.

He turns so he’s facing Parrish but keeps moving so he’s kind of awkwardly walking backwards. He tucks his fingers into the front pockets of Parrish’s jeans, and they do this kind of shuffle step dance as Parrish tries not to step on his feet and cause one or both of them to fall. He raises both his arms up and out, each one holding an ice-cream cone as if the elevation will lower the risk in losing them to whatever it is that Stiles is about to do.

“Stiles,” Parrish says, letting out an exasperated sigh and stopping. “What are you doing?”

The ladies are still watching, so Stiles takes a step closer hopefully eliminating any doubt in the woman’s mind as to whether she has a shot with Parrish.

“That lady over there was looking at you like she was a lion getting ready to take down a wounded gazelle.”

Without looking back over his shoulder Parrish says, “Burnette? Chainsmokers t-shirt and nice legs?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at Parrish because, yeah, okay she _does_ have nice legs, but Stiles also has perfectly serviceable legs. What was so special about legs anyway?

“Yeah…”

“I think she was looking at you.”

“What?” Stiles isn’t at all subtle as he looks over Parrish’s shoulder at the woman and her friend. They’ve started to walk away, but she looks back and gives him a small smile and waves before continuing on her way. “Why would she be looking at me?”

“Because your jeans are tight enough that your dick is pretty noticeable.”

Stiles looks down his body, and yeah, okay he’s got a bit of a bulge line going on but that was part of the plan. But really, how could anyone notice the status of his junk when Parrish’s ass was _right_ there being perfect? It defied logic. Lady needed her eyes checked because—

“Stiles. Stiles. STILES!”

“Present,” he says because he’s lost the thread of… well of everything.

“You were saying something?”

What was he talking about before he noticed the lioness? He looked at Parrish, still holding the ice-cream up and out to the side. Oh, yeah, that’s right.

“The media has lied to us, for years.”

Parrish nods, but not like he agrees, like he’s just waiting for whatever assertion Stiles is going to make. It takes Stiles a bit by surprise because he was used to people brushing him off or waiting on him to deliver some sort of joke or non-sequitur. The deputy seemed like he was genuinely waiting for Stiles to say something serious, which immediately made Stiles feel strange.

“Ice-cream cones aren’t sexy,” Stiles says, and when Parrish just stares at him blankly, he chews on his lower lip nervously. Like, he had facts and stuff to support his stance, but he thought it was so obvious he wouldn’t need to speak them aloud.

“Okay,” Parrish says. “Is that up for debate?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Debate? There were tons of scenes in media of someone seductively licking an ice-cream cone. Implying things with their eyes and their tongue and it was supposed to be sexy except that it wasn’t, not ev—

Parrish brought one of the ice-cream cones to his mouth, Stiles’s actually, and dragged his tongue around the base, rotating it and dragging out the lick while maintaining eye contact. The pink of Parrish’s tongue sliding across the vanilla cone caused Stiles’s brain to stutter. He lost his train of thought, again.

“Why can’t ice-cream cones be sexy?” Parrish asks.

Stiles opens his mouth to tell Parrish why they aren’t sexy but before he can Parrish just _licks_ Stiles’s ice-cream cone again. His cone, Stiles’s, not Parrish’s chocolate one. That was just—

Parrish makes this _noise_ as he brings his tongue back into his mouth. It’s like a groan, but like a-that-was-fucking-exquisite groan that was disproportionate to the level of joy a vanilla ice-cream cone could impart. Stiles had heard that noise, multiple times, it was the little hitch breathed seizing gasp that Parrish made when he came. Stiles fucking loved that noise and Parrish was making it for an ice-cream cone of a flavor he didn’t even order!

The deputy smiled at him innocently, leaning forward to drag his tongue along the cone again, but it was Stiles’s cone, so he leaned forward licking against the opposite side from Parrish and then meeting him halfway, and yeah, okay fine, ice-cream cones could be sexy. Parrish moves the cone out of their way and they’re kissing on the sidewalk and people could be watching and Stiles doesn’t care. They could just be jealous, and go find their own ice-cream cone, and their own hot as hell (literally) deputy to share it with.

Speaking of, Stiles pulls away from their kiss and glances from one cone to the other and yeah, they’re melting a little quicker than they probably should and Stiles gets that because he pretty much melts when in close proximity to Parrish too.

“That was cold,” Stiles says.

Parrish grins. “Well ice-cream cones are cold.”

“Really? You’re just going to ignore the fact that you tried to sex eyes me over my own ice-cream cone, one which you have illegally taken three licks from?”

Parrish tilted his head in puzzlement, a small smile playing across his lips that still had the evidence of his crime despite Stiles’s attempt to lick them clean.

“First of all, I’m not sure how you ‘sex eyes’ someone, and second, I bought both cones so technically they are both mine, so there was no illegal dessert seizure.”

Parrish was cunning, more cunning than Stiles had given him credit for, and a fair amount of his dessert had paid the price for his hubris.  “Oh, you know how to sex eyes, deputy. You have on more than one occasion used sex eyes to steal my innocence, and now you have also used them to steal my ice-cream. I thought you took an oath to serve and protect.”

“That’s literally never happened.”

“What?”

“Everything you just said, well except the serve and protect thing.”

Stiles scoffs at him. He withdraws one of his hands from Parrish’s pocket, brings it up and thumbs some of the vanilla ice-cream from the corner of the deputy’s mouth. He brings his thumb up and suggestively wraps his lips around it.

Like a desert wind heat rolls off Parrish and washes over Stiles. The deputy stares at Stiles takes a step forward and then lets out an exasperated groan. Stiles grins at Parrish, and looks at the remains of first one, and then the other cone.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” Parrish says. “And now we don’t have any ice-cream.”

“Speak for yourself,” Stiles says. He reaches out, taking the hand that formerly held the chocolate ice-cream cone. He peels back Parrish’s fingers one by one, taking the remains of the cone from him and tossing it into a nearby trash can. Then he licks Parrish’s fingers clean one by one, enjoying the noises Parrish makes more than the ice-cream.

“Stiles,” Parrish groans, and Stiles loves how wrecked he sounds. “We had dinner, we watched a movie, we shared an ice-cream co—”

“Did we though?” Stiles asks, licking between Parrish’s fingers. He didn’t miss any of the ice-cream, he just wanted to.

Parrish pulls his hand away, leaning forward to kiss Stiles, like maybe he wants to make sure he get’s some of the chocolate ice-cream, or maybe he just needs to run his tongue along Stiles’s lips. Either way Stiles is more than fine with it.

“We did,” Parrish whispers against his lips. “That means you owe me something else.”

Stiles places a soft kiss against Parrish’s lips and then turns away, walking down the street and turning the corner towards his rental car. He hears the remnants of the vanilla cone join its counterpart in the trashcan and then Parrish’s sneakers on the sidewalk right behind him.

He yanks open the driver’s side door and slides into the seat. Parrish is in the passenger’s seat just a second behind him.  He’s about to reach over his shoulder to grab the seatbelt, but before he can Parrish snags his arm and pulls it out of the way.

“What are you do—”

He doesn’t get to ask his question though because Parrish is fumbling at Stiles’s zipper trying to drag it down. Stiles glances around wildly, it’s dark, but they’re parked on the street and anyone could just be walking by.

Parrish doesn’t seem to care about that possibility though because he’s determined to get Stiles’s dick out of his jeans and into his mouth. Stiles practically _whines_ in need as Parrish’s lips brush against the head of his dick.

“Your fault,” Parrish whispers, then licks at the head of Stiles’s dick, dragging his tongue over the slit at the tip to see if there’s anything there for him yet, and groaning at what he finds.

Stiles doesn’t see anyone on the street in either direction, checks the mirrors too but it’s hard to concentrate with the wet heat closing around him.

“Fuck,” Stiles grunts, and Parrish makes this noise that sounds like agreement and it vibrates down Stiles’s dick and into his balls, making his toes curl.

He can’t help himself, Parrish isn’t holding back at all, he’s sucking hard and feverishly. Stiles’s thrusts up into the deputy’s mouth, the slick sound of Parrish on him driving him crazy.

“Your mouth is so good,” Stiles says, “so hot, please baby…”

He’s not sure what he’s asking for though because he’s getting what he needs. Parrish pulls off him and starts licking at the tip of his dick again before swallowing him down all the way to the base, throat and tongue working to pull out what he wants. Stiles get’s one hand on Parrish’s neck, the other on the back of his head to hold Parrish in place so he can thrust up. The temperature in the car is rapidly spiking, and sweat drips down Stiles’s temples and yeah, Stiles swears to himself _again_ that he’s going to get naked with Parrish, that they are definitely, before the night is over, going to fuck with no clothes on, and he’s going to take his time enjoying it.

“I’m close,” Stiles gasps out, releasing Parrish so he can pull back.

Parrish does release Stiles from his mouth, but only long enough to give him a few hard strokes from base to tip with his hand and say, “fuck yes, give it to me,” dropping back down to suck on the end of his dick, working the rest of Stiles with his hand.

Stiles’s grips Parrish’s neck and head again, giving a few more short thrusts before his body seizes up. Parrish doesn’t let up though, sucking hard and twisting his hand, trying to get everything he can out of him. Stiles trembles, nerves on fire, but he doesn’t push Parrish away or ask him to ease up, he let’s the deputy take what he wants and just tries to survive it. He covers his face with his hands, groaning and weakly thrusts his hips up.

Just when he thinks he’s about to break, Parrish finally sits up, but continues stroking Stiles gently. “Finally,” he says in the must smug, self-satisfied way. “Now that we’ve had the dinner, the movie, and the ice-cream, we can get to the good stuff.

Stiles knows he can’t speak, and he keeps his hands over his face because he’s not sure he can look over at Parrish, especially when Parrish lets him go and Stiles can _hear_ him licking his fingers clean.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

The thing about fishing your keys out of your pocket is that it’s incredibly difficult while there is another person actively trying to lick and bite their way through your neck. Stiles knows it on an intellectual level, but he can’t restrain himself. Parrish tastes like sweat and the promise of sex and a million other things that Stiles can’t think of as he grinds his dick against Parrish’s ass. He knows if he backs off a second and lets Parrish open the door they can get inside the deputy’s place and fuck like proper consenting very horny adults, but he just can’t, and he’s learning to live with that.

“Stiles,” Parrish pants out, “I thought you wanted to have sex with no clothes on, at the rate your going you’re going to bust before I open my front door.”

He’s offended by that, there were a lot of things that Stiles doesn’t have confidence in, but his staying power is not one of them. He’d gone through a lot of training to keep something embarrassing like prematurely ejaculating in his pants against the perfect ass of a hellhound deputy from happening to him. Well that example was probably a little too specific, but the general idea was there. He slides his hands around to the front of Parrish’s jeans and dips his fingers barely under the waistband of his underwear, raking his nails through the light dusting of hair just above Parrish’s dick.

“I came like less than a half hour ago from a hot as fuck dude giving me head in my rental car. I’m not going to come from getting to whatever base dry humping a guy who sucks your dick like a champ is.”

Parrish makes this noise that’s half chuckle and half desperate pant, and Stiles likes it so much he gets his other hand up under Parrish’s shirt, thumbs at his nipple just to see if he’ll make another interesting noise. He does, and he also drops the keys he’d finally gotten out of his pocket.

“Fuck,” Parrish hisses, but he leans forward placing his hands on the door rather than kneeling to get the dropped keys.

“You aren’t going to get those?” Stiles asks, rubbing Parrish’s nipple between his thumb and finger.

“Stiles, if I get on my knees right now to get those I’m not getting up until I’ve had another taste of you.”

He has no idea if Parrish really would blow him on the doorstep, but the thought is going to be something he’s sure he masturbates to in the future. To be an accommodating and helpful person, Stiles crouches down and grabs Parrish’s keys. It puts his face near Parrish’s ass, and he swears to himself that this time, no matter what happens they are both going to be naked, and Stiles is also going to explore more of Parrish than he’s had opportunity to in the past. With his tongue.

“Here,” he says, and he holds up the keys for Parrish to take, but he places a few kisses on Parrish’s ass. He was down there after all he might as well make the most of it.

Parrish groans, but he manages to get the keys from Stiles with shaky hands. Stiles starts undoing Parrish’s shoelaces as the deputy tries to get the door unlocked.

“What are you doing?” Parrish asks, swearing under his breath as he tries to get the key in the lock.

Stiles finishes with one set of laces and moves to the other. “Multitasking. While you try to remember how doors work, I’m going to get some of the pre-undressing out of the way.” Stiles gets back to his feet, reaching around Parrish and starting to undue his belt. “That way no matter what shenanigans you try to pull once we get inside; I’ll be well on my way to getting you fully naked.”

“You sound really fixated on this we must be fully naked this time thing. You know that right?”

“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing for me to want to be able to fully enjoy your body, and also not die of heatstroke.”

Parrish finally manages to get the door open, just as Stiles is unzipping his pants. He’s pretty sure supernatural speed isn’t one of the hellhound powers that Parrish has, but just like that he’s left standing on the doorstep alone, and with an obvious erection. He glances around to see if anyone saw them trying to open the door, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. Out of habit he reaches down through the top of his jeans and boxers, pulling his dick upwards so it’s at a better angle and tucks it into the waistband, adjusting his shirt to make sure he’s covered.

“Could you stop jerking yourself off and get in here so I can do it for you?”

Stiles is about to respond, but it seems he isn’t fast enough because Parrish reaches out the door, grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him inside. The door slams shut, and then Stiles is slammed against it. Not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make an impression, one that Stiles’s dick takes note of. It twitches where it’s trapped in his waistband.

Parrish pulls Stiles into a bruising kiss, licking into his mouth and sucking at his tongue. His head’s spinning a little bit because he thought he’d been pretty wound up, but Parrish seems ravenous. He wants to tell the deputy to lead them back to his bedroom, but before he can Parrish grips Stiles’s shirt and starts pulling it over his head.

As soon as its off Parrish’s eyes lock onto the head of Stiles’s dick sticking out of the top of his pants, and Stiles gets that because if Parrish’s dick was peeking out Stiles would probably already be on his knees. Which it seems is Parrish’s plan because he’s sliding down Stiles’s body, trailing wet kisses and licks from Stiles’s nipple to his stomach.

“No way, man. Unfair.” Stiles’s protest sounds super weak, even to himself.

Parrish laughs, then licks and sucks at the sensitive skin just under the tip of Stiles’s dick. “It’s unfair that I want to suck your dick again?” Parrish asks the question, but it doesn’t seem like he’s interested in waiting on an answer as he keeps kissing and licking.

“Y-you just,” Stiles tries to get his brain working, but who was supposed to be able to think with their dick more or less in someone else’s mouth. “My turn…”

“Give me one more,” Parrish says, and it’s borderline begging. He fumbles Stiles’s pants open, and pulls them partially down freeing Stiles’s dick, which slaps wetly against Parrish’s cheek. “Please,” Parrish says, and licks up the underside of Stiles’s dick while looking up at him. “Give me one more and then you can do whatever.” He sucks Stiles into his mouth, holding his hips against the door and taking him further down, then backs off with a wet pop. “For however long you want, but you can let me have more first right?”

Stiles looks down, as Parrish tilts his head to the side, running his lips and tongue along the underside of Stiles’s dick from base to tip, back and forth while waiting for an answer. How was anyone supposed to be able to answer that with anything other than an enthusiastic _yes_? He was like 78% sure he could come again, then take his time exploring Parrish and get it up again a third time. He was a red-blooded young college age dude. He could give Parrish what he wanted. Probably.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, “I’ll give it to you.”

Parrish makes this _hungry_ thankful noise and sucks Stiles back into his mouth, working his tongue and lips. It’s sloppy, wet, and so hot. Stiles can’t help but make little thrusting motions fucking into the heat of Parrish’s mouth. The deputy reaches up, grips one of Stiles’s hands and guides it to the back of his head. He pulls off Stiles’s dick, licking up the length again.

“You can fuck my mouth harder,” Parrish says, placing another series of sloppy kisses up the underside of Stiles’s shaft.

Stiles nods, and he tries to adjust his stance a bit wider, but his legs are trapped a bit with his pants and underwear halfway down his legs. Parrish smirks up at him, then sticks his tongue out and slaps Stiles’s dick against it.

“Come on,” Parrish urges him. “You said you’d give me what I wanted, yeah?”

Stiles wants to get his shoes and pants off, but it’s hard to think, to do anything other than focus on Parrish sucking hungrily on him. He leans forward a bit, both to get more of himself into Parrish’s mouth as well as place a hand on his shoulder to help balance. The deputy makes this smug satisfied noise and it reverberates down Stiles’s shaft into his balls. Through some miracle Stiles manages to toe out of his shoes with Parrish trying to suck his spine out through his dick.

Parrish pulls back, and Stiles’s legs wobble a bit at the thin thread of saliva trailing from his dick to the deputy’s mouth. “Come on,” Parrish says, “get them off.” He nods towards Stiles’s pants still trapping his legs. He leans forward again, licking at the tip of Stiles’s dick, even as he get’s his own pants undone.

“Fuck, fuck,” Stiles says, getting one leg out of his pants and kicking his other leg to try to free it from the tangled fucking _prison_ that they’ve become.

“Only after I get what I want,” Parrish says. He tugs at his own dick, a smirk on his face as Stiles tries to keep from falling while trying to get out of his pants. After a couple of strokes, he pushes Stiles back against the door, and helps get his pants and boxers the rest of the way off. He doesn’t toss them aside though, he looks down at them, then up at Stiles. “Is it okay if I… ?”

Not entirely sure what Parrish wants, Stiles shrugs. He leans back against the door, strokes himself, slowly from the base and twisting up over the tip. Parrish on his knees, with his dick sticking out the fly of his jeans looking up at Stiles with naked hunger wasn’t something he was really going to be able to say no to.

Parrish pulls Stiles boxers out of the jeans and tosses the jeans aside. He looks down at them, then after a second of hesitation he brings them up to his face and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes, like he’s afraid of what look might be on Stiles’s face but doesn’t seem to be able to help himself. He keeps them up to his face with one hand and starts pulling on his dick with the other.

“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes out, and pulls on himself, matching the strokes that Parrish is using.

Parrish’s eyes open, and there’s literal fire dancing in them. He tugs himself harder, taking another couple of deep breathes before tossing Stiles’s boxers aside and lunging forward. It catches him off-guard, and Stiles slams back into the door with a loud thud. Parrish grips the hand Stiles had been jerking himself with, and after peeling the fingers away one by one licks each of them.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Stiles gasps out again, because words were almost as hard as his dick.

Parish wraps his fingers around Stiles’s dick and angles it up so that the can lick and gently suck at Stiles’s balls. It’s overwhelming, having all the desire and lust rolling off Parrish in hot waves focused on him. He tries to spread his legs a bit to give him more room to do what he wants. Parrish’s grip on him tightens, stroking him hard and quick but letting his mouth and tongue wander back under Stiles’s balls to the sensitive skin between his legs. Parrish uses his other hand behind Stiles’s knee and lifts his leg up and spread to the side

Stiles had never been with a girl who wanted to explore anything other than his dick, and occasionally his nipples, so he’d never had a tongue halfway to his ass and he was simultaneously excited and terrified, and harder than he could ever remember being. Just when he thought Parrish was going to go for it, he instead pulled back letting Stiles’s leg drop.

“Are you okay?” Parrish asks, but his voice is rough and distant, laced with something distinctly unnatural. He looks up but can’t seem to help himself as he runs his tongue up the underside of Stiles’s dick. He blinks his eyes a few times and the fire goes out of his eyes, returning them to the deep blue shade that was the first thing Stiles noticed about the deputy.

“Y-yeah, don’t stop. I’m good if you are,” Stiles had seen lots of glowing eyes, sometimes those eyes had wanted him dead, but he’d been with a were-coyote too, so it wasn’t like he’d never seen them during sex. “If you aren’t good though I’m probably going to need to jerk off bec—”

Parrish lets out this possessive _growl_ that makes Stiles’s balls ache, even as the deputy went back to mouthing at the head of his dick, paying close attention to the underside and tip like he wanted Stiles to lose it fast.

“You’re naked,” Parrish said, hot breath teasing Stiles. “You wanted to fuck me while you were naked. Start with my mouth.” He placed his hands on Stiles’s hips, pulling him forward encouragingly as he sucks him back into his mouth.

Stiles gets one hand on the back of Parrish’s neck, the other on the top of his head, and experimentally thrusts forward, seeing how much Parrish can take. As it turns out, taking it isn’t a problem, and Stiles’s toes curl when he bottoms out in Parrish’s mouth, the deputy’s nose bumping into his stomach.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles gasps out, pulling back and then slowly sliding into Parrish’s throat again. “I’ve not… fuck…”

He’d had a lot of blowjobs, a lot of great blowjobs, but he’d never experienced sliding into someone like this and he’s afraid of hurting Parrish by thrusting too hard or too far, but he can’t help himself. He pulls back and thrusts in again and again, but Parrish leans forward to meet him wanting more, going at a faster pace than Stiles. It takes a moment, but they manage to find a rhythm that works for both of them, but Stiles knows he’s going to lose it pretty quick.

The slick heat of Parrish’s mouth and throat are dismantling his self-control. He gets up on his tip toes thrusting hard and fast. Parrish makes a choked gagging sound, but a frustrated noise when Stiles tries to pull away to give him space.

“I’m so close,” Stiles says, and pulls his hips back. Parrish follows him until his back hits the door. “Fuck.”

Looking down, Stiles bites his lip, watching Parrish’s mouth sliding up and down on his dick, loving that the deputy is so into it that he’s jerking himself off, tugging hard as he tries to get Stiles to lose control.

“Don’t come,” Stiles says, and yeah it’s selfish, but he wants to be the one to give Parrish that pleasure, and the deputy did say that he’d do whatever Stiles said if he let him suck his dick again.

Parrish whines around Stiles dick, and he looks up, his pupils blown open with desire. Stiles could lose himself in those eyes, whether they were orange or blue, could fall into them and be happy there.

“Your cock tastes so good,” Parrish says, pulling back and then licking at the tip. His grip tightens, and when he drags his hand up over the head of Stiles’s dick he twists, smirks as Stiles’s legs shake. “What are you going to do to me once I get what I want?”

“Everything,” Stiles says. “Suck your dick, fuck you, I want to lick your hole, I’ll make you feel so good if you let me.”

Parrish’s breath is almost as ragged as Stiles, and he leans forward, licking at the tip of Stiles’s dick, letting out a satisfied grown at the taste. “Give me what I want, and you can do all that. I’ll come for you too, as many times as you want.”

His grip is slick, and tight but Stiles really wants to get back in his mouth.

“Can I come in your mouth?” Stiles asks, and he can feel heat flooding his face. “I know I just did a little while ago…”

“As many times as you want,” Parrish says, leaning forward and sucking the head of Stiles’s dick back into his mouth, working his tongue under the head.

“Please, baby,” Stiles is already getting what he wants, but he feels like he’s asking for too much, being too greedy. “I’ll get you so wet with my tongue, you’ll beg for me to fuck you, but I’m going to make you come with just my tongue, my fingers.”

Parrish moans around Stiles’s dick, sucking more, working harder, and Stiles grunts at the force of it, of how badly Parrish wants to drain him.

“I’m going to milk you dry, baby,” Stiles says, and he means it. “You’re going to tell me you don’t have anything left and I’m going to remind you that you wanted to suck my dick so bad you promised me any number of times.”

He curls his fingers into the front of Parrish’s hair, snapping his hips forward and back in small thrusts that almost drag him out of Parrish’s mouth but then getting back into the heat he needs. The wet slide has him right on the edge.

“I’m so close, baby,” Stiles says and he tries to pull out of Parrish’s mouth, but the deputy grabs his ass, holding him in place and sucking harder. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stiles gasps out as balls draw up and he unloads into Parrish’s mouth, legs shaking with the force of it.

Parrish doesn’t let him go though, he keeps sucking, licking. Stiles’s legs feel like rubber and he leans back against the door, but Parrish massages his balls with one hand, and twists the other up the length of his shaft like he’s trying to get absolutely everything he can out of him.

“Fucking hell,” Stiles gasps out, part of him wanting to push Parrish away, but another part of him curious just how much he can take before it was too much.

Finally, Parrish releases him from his mouth with a slurping noise that makes Stiles’s dick give a weak but interested twitch. The deputy sits back on his heels, looks up at Stiles running his thumb over his lips before sucking it into his mouth. They’re both having a bit of trouble catching their breath.

“What now?” Parrish asks, and his dick bobs up and down at the question. He looks so hard, like it’s borderline painful, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Stiles kneels down, brushing his thumb over the head of Parrish’s dick, surprised by how wet it is. He mirrors the deputy, bringing his thumb up and sliding into his own mouth, then drags it out with a wet pop.

“Now,” Stiles says, “Now I finally get what I want. Let’s get you out of the rest of your clothes.”

“Yes, sir,” Parrish says, and any doubt as to whether Stiles would be able to get it up again after taking his time exploring Parrish’s body with his tongue disappears.

 


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

It feels a little strange to be walking naked through someone’s house when they’re not also naked. Against all odds Parrish had somehow managed to remain clothed despite Stiles’s almost best efforts. Sure, Stiles _could_ have refused to let Parrish suck his dick until he’d stripped, but that seemed a little ungrateful.

There aren’t really any lights on, and the sun had set before Stiles had gotten off the second time. The dark didn’t seem to bother Parrish though. He walks with purpose and Stiles is just trailing after him trying and failing not to feel awkward. It’s not cold though which is a blessing. It’s not like he had to be worried about shrinkage from the cold casting him in an unflattering light. Parrish had to have Stiles’s dimensions memorized with the number of times he’d gotten up close and personal with them. The thing is he’s not sure if it’s comfortably warm normally, or if it’s rolling off the deputy. The reason isn’t important, it’s not like Stiles has to show his math to prove how he got to his conclusion.

Jesus he was fucking weird. Parrish seems to be okay with it though, which blows Stiles mind a little bit and, yeah a part of him is always going to be a teenage boy because he smiles as he thinks of the word ‘blow’, which is ridiculous because he’d already gotten two mind bending blowjobs. It doesn’t stop his dick from giving an interested twitch. He pats himself as they walk, and it wouldn’t have been awkward, not _really,_ except at that exact moment Parrish looks back over his shoulder. There’s a question in his eyes as they flicker between Stiles’s dick and back to his face, but Stiles just hides his hands behind his back like he hadn’t just been caught patting himself consolingly.

“You’re already up for more?” He hears the smile on Parrish’s face more than sees it in the shadows of the hallway.

He reaches out and grips Parrish’s waist, pausing him. He noses against the side of the deputy’s head until he tilts it to the side to make some room for Stiles to brush his teeth along the exposed skin of his neck.

“Someone could shoot me with an elephant tranquilizer right now and it wouldn’t stop me from fucking you tonight.”

There’s a brief pause, and then Parrish says, “Was… that supposed to be sexy?”

“Only if it was.”

“To be honest I’m not entirely sure. The way you talk is—”

“Extremely clever?”

“I was going to go with unique.”

“Ouch, are you going to tell me I have a good sense of humor next?”

Parrish turns to face him, and he bumps his nose into Stiles’s, and god damn that’s just about the cutest thing Stiles experienced from him. What even is his life right now?

“I don’t like the way you sarcastically cut at yourself to try to make other people laugh.”

“I wasn’t…”

“So, you’re trying to tell me that wasn’t an implication that at least you’re funny because you aren’t hot.”

“Are you saying I’m not hot?”

“I’ve sucked your dick twice tonight and you’re calling how attractive I think you are into question?”

Stiles isn’t used to feeling stymied by a verbal exchange with anyone not named Lydia Martin. “Sorry, I’m awkward.” He tries to look away, but Parrish reaches out to stop him, leans in and places a soft kiss on his lips, then his nose.

“Fuck, how can you be adorably innocent and scorching hot simultaneously?” Stiles asks.

“I guess I’m equal parts Catholic School Boy and Hellhound,” Parrish says.

Stiles is going to respond, he is, because he’s witty, but the idea of Parrish in a different kind of uniform just moves into his mind and makes itself at home. It leads him down a path that he’s in no way trying to resist. Parrish in black slacks, white button-down shirt and black tie, and sure maybe that’s Mormon Church missionaries or something he has no idea. He’s not the most rational of people on his best days, and while this is one of the _best_ days of his life so far, it’s not one of _his_ best days. There was a difference. Maybe not to anyone but him, but it was still true.

“Are you fantasizing about me instead of actually following me to my bedroom and fulfilling all the promises you made while I was sucking your dick?”

Well when Parrish puts it like that it makes him sound insane, which, yeah okay he probably is according to some official paperwork somewhere but—

Parrish kisses him. There’s soft lips and gentle fingers along the side of his face and his brain just _calms._ He closes his eyes, kisses back, and it’s just this gentle warmth engulfing him. He’s gotten used to the idea of Parrish as this force of nature, a raging torrent of flame rushing through his blood and setting his mind on fire. This Parrish though, wrapping around him like a warm blanket, seeping into his bones like hot chocolate on a crisp winter night catches him so completely off-guard he never get’s the chance to overthink it.

He pulls the deputy into a tight hug, one hand on his back, the other on his neck, and he just wants Parrish to hold him for a few moments, to keep doing whatever it is that he’s doing that lets Stiles’s brain relax, slow down. Parrish seems to get it, because he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t ask any questions. He’s okay with the two of them just standing there, together.

Stiles soaks it in. He can’t remember the last time he felt comfortable just being with someone without having to fill the silence. Every moment of every day he felt like he existed in a slightly different more frantic space than the people around him. He’d cut people off, interrupting them, and it wasn’t because he wanted to talk over them, or that he wasn’t interested in what they were saying. It was just that the space between words seemed so painfully long to him that his brain shorted out, and he talked fast because he was afraid that if he gave people the time to stop and think about what he was saying they’d realize how awkward he was. If he gave people the time to think about who he was and what he was doing or saying, they’d realize there were better ways to spend it than with him.

He _needs_ to be funny, because that’s what he’s got. He’s not strong like Scott. He’s not smart like Lydia. He’s not brave like Malia. He’s not kind like Parrish, or responsible like his father. Stiles has this one thing, and he’s afraid to give anyone the chance to realize it.

Parrish backs up a bit and the amazing thing is there isn’t even a single second that Stiles thinks he’s going to pull away. He opens his eyes to look, because he’s not afraid of what he’s going to find on Parrish’s face.

“How did I get so lucky?” Parrish asks him.

Stiles’s first instinct in situations like this one, or any situation for that matter is to make a joke. It’s not in this moment though and he doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He just leans in to kiss Parrish again, and that seems to be enough because Parrish kisses him back and it’s kind of perfect.

 


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Parrish’s bedroom is immaculate. On some level Stiles knows that’s not even the tiniest bit surprising. The bed is made, because of course it is. There are no clothes lying in discarded piles anywhere. No soda cans, no beer cans, just little knick knacks and other decorations tastefully arranged on the furniture.

“I was today years old when I learned there existed a single guy’s bedroom that didn’t have underwear on the floor.”

Parrish turns to look at him after switching on a light sitting on the end table next to the bed.  He has this small smile on his face as he thumbs open the button of his jeans. He pushes them down and steps out of them. He’s wearing light blue boxer briefs. The specific style probably has a name, they don’t extend fully down to his mid-thigh, but Stiles’s brain is barely functioning. Parrish peels his shirt off, drops it on the ground next to him. The thing is that hardly registers because who cares about his shirt or what style of underwear he’s got on because they’re so tight and he’s so hard Stiles can make out the outline of his cock. Parrish says something, but Stiles doesn’t hear it because he’s laser focused on the wet spot on the fabric over the head of the deputy’s dick.

There’s a pause, and Stiles feels like he’s supposed to say something but he’s a little dazed. He licks his lips and Parrish inhales sharply when he does. Stiles watches as the deputy hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his underwear and then leans over to pull them down and step out of them. He tosses them onto the floor at Stiles’s feet.

“Better?” Parrish asks.

It is because Stiles finally gets to see him fully naked, and not just in the half light of a shitty motel room. He’s a lucid dreamer, it’s a skill he was forced to pick up to deal with some of the craziest shit that Beacon Hills ever threw at him, but even his recent most vivid sex dreams don’t hold a candle to an actually naked Jordan Parrish.

“Stiles, I’m so hard. Please don’t just stare at me unless you want me to get started without you.”

He just nods dumbly, because his brain won’t brain, and because if he’s being honest with himself, he kind of does want to see how Parrish handles himself. Heat rushes up his chest and neck, and his cheeks feel like they’re burning.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, “can I watch you just for a bit?” It comes out as a hoarse whisper. Was it weird to ask Parrish to masturbate for him? It was this private thing that everyone did, and Stiles feels like he’s out of line asking Parrish to share it with him.

There isn’t a second of hesitation. Parrish brings one hand up to his mouth and licks across his palm. He keeps his eyes focused on Stiles, but he holds himself steady with one hand and strokes himself from base to tip with the other. He takes a half step back and sits down on the edge of the bed, knees spread.

“You want to watch?” Parrish’s voice is a little unsteady, and his breathing is visibly labored. He’s got better self-control than Stiles does because he doesn’t just go to town on himself. He takes it slow, measured strokes, occasionally licking his hand to get a slicker friction. “I’ve been jerking off a _lot_ more than normal ever since that night.”

That night. No explanation needed. Stiles gets what Parrish is saying because ever since they’d jerked off together over the internet Stiles’s sex drive has been dialed up well past eleven. He takes a few steps closer to the bed, wants to get a better view.

“Do you want me to talk, or just… ?” Parrish slides his hand down, caresses his balls. “I’m so hard, Stiles.” There’s an accusation there, and more than a bit of desperation.

“What do you want me to do?” Stiles kneels in front of Parrish, drag’s his nails up his legs and then lets his hands rest on the deputy’s knees.

He leans forward a little, and Parrish does too, almost like he’s trying to meet him halfway. They don’t kiss though, because Stiles’s focus isn’t there. Instead, he dips his head to lick the tip of Parrish’s dick.

“You taste so fucking good,” Stiles says, and pushes Parrish’s knees a little further apart.

“ _Please_ …”

“Not good enough. I’ll give you anything, do anything, but you have to tell me what you want.”

Parrish makes this frustrated noise, and he thrusts his hips forward, fucking into the tight grip of his hand and toward Stiles. He runs a thumb over the tip of Parrish’s dick, then brings it up his mouth to taste again.

“Fuck… Stiles…”

“We can do that. Maybe not tonight, but it’s not off the table.” Stiles knows that’s not really what’s being said.

For a brief moment flames dance in Parrish’s eyes and it sends butterflies through Stiles’s stomach. The thing is he just wants to see if it’s something Parrish wants. To fuck him. He doesn’t know if he’ll like it but…

“You don—”

“I want to try it. Before I… we can worry about it later.”

There’s confusion in Parrish’s once again blue eyes, and the butterflies in Stiles’s stomach twist in a less than pleasant way. He almost said, ‘before I leave’. That was the thing, he was going to be leaving. Not in the next day or two, but eventually.

Just like that animal need seizes him, and he pulls Parrish forward into a bruising kiss. They’re together right now and that should be enough, but on some level he knows it’s not, and it frames the situation in a much more urgent and desperate light. He pushes Parrish backwards so that he’s resting on the bed and slides forward so he’s kneeling between his legs.

He leans down, closing his lips over the tip of Parrish’s dick, and sucks hard. There’s this somehow simultaneously relieved and tortured noise, and he’s not even sure which one of them makes it. Parrish is still stroking himself, and his hand brushes Stiles’s lips as their movements meet.

Stiles’s whole body is shaking, and he feels like he’s running out of time. It doesn’t make sense but it’s there and he’s doing his best to deal with it, to swallow it down because he wants Parrish to feel good, not to deal with his sudden wave of fucked up.

Parrish lets out a hitched breath, and even though he’s trying to restrain himself he can’t help but thrust up into Stiles’s mouth. It’s so incredibly Parrish to be absolutely wrecked with need, but more worried about his partner’s comfort than himself.

 _Fuck that._ Stiles wants to take apart Parrish’s self-control so that the only thing he can focus on is how good he feels. He kisses down the length of Parrish’s cock, then mouths at his balls. Stiles isn’t sure if balls are like nipples, some guys might like them being messed with, some might not. He doesn’t have any first had experience except with his own, and a bit of second hand via porn. Parrish does though, and he rolls his hips pushing himself at Stiles.

He should be taking his time, but he can’t shake the anxiety, so he get’s his hands up under Parrish’s knees and pushes. The deputy doesn’t fight the movement at all, instead he hooks his hands under his knees too.

“Oh god, please. Stiles you said you would. I need your tongue.”

There wasn’t enough time. Stiles isn’t going to keep teasing him and making him ask for exactly what he wants. Stiles _needs_ it too. It scares him how much he feels the need, like a living thing twisting through him.

Parrish’s skin is already feverishly hot and inching up by degrees. Stiles drags his tongue over Parrish’s hole, and there’s no question as to whether or not Parrish is into it. He’s twitching and making these noises that go straight to Stiles’s dick.

“Fuck, Stiles, so good.”

With Parrish holding his own legs up it frees Stiles’s hands to do more interesting things. He rubs a thumb over Parrish’s hole, teases him with a bit of pressure. Parrish arches his back, pushing his ass towards Stiles, and it’s all the invitation needed.

Stiles is good with his mouth. With his tongue. One of his ex-girlfriend’s said it was because they got so much exercise. She was probably right, and _fuck_ why was he thinking of an ex when he was doing his level best to get to Parrish’s prostate with his tongue.

“Please, fuck me. Please. I need more.”

It’s not time for that. Parrish had made promises. Stiles knows that Parrish is the kind of man who honors his promises. He licks harder, wanting to make sure everything is nice and slick. Parrish makes a frustrated noise when Stiles stops and sits back. It’s almost enough to make Stiles give in. Almost.

“You said I could do whatever I wanted, for however long I wanted. You remember?” Stiles rubs a thumb over Parrish’s hole again, biting his lower lip when it flexes in response. “You wanted to suck my dick so bad. You needed it that much. Remember?”

“Yes, sir,” Parrish pants out. “I needed it. Want you so bad. Please.”

“Could you get off from me using my fingers?”

“I can try, sir,” he tries to roll his hips, get more pressure.

“Lube?” Stiles leans in, licking over Parrish’s hole again. He can’t help himself. If he wasn’t so twisted up, if they had more time, he’d try to get him off with his tongue.

“Top… drawer…”

“Roll over. Get on your knees,” Stiles says as he slides across the floor to the nightstand. He pulls the top drawer open and it’s a testament to his need to get some part of himself into Parrish that there’s only the slightest bit of curiosity about what’s in the black velvety looking bag next to the bottle of lube. It wasn’t big enough to be like a full-size dildo or vibrator thing or whatever.

He looks back at Parrish who’s on his knees, but with his chest flush against the bed, arms between his legs, one hand jerking himself off, and the other stroking over his hole. Stiles’s mouth is dry, and it’s only partially because of the rising heat in the bedroom.

“I’ll use it on you next time,” Parrish says, and there’s mischief in his eyes.

Stiles slides back over to the side of the bed, lube in hand. He leans in to lick up the length of Parrish’s dick, dragging his tongue from tip to base, then up over Parrish’s balls and to his ass again. He chuckles to himself as Parrish pushes back against him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, deputy,” Stiles says.

Parrish uses his fingers to spread himself wider, to give Stiles more access. “The bag,” he grunts as Stiles takes the invitation. “Next… time. I’ll…”

“Mhmm.”

It was hard to carry on a conversation with your face buried in a hot guy’s ass, so Stiles gives up on trying. He’s going to use his fingers. He is. The thing is Parrish taste so fucking good he can’t stop. There’s a plan. Isn’t there a plan? Stiles licks harder, wraps a tight fist around Parrish’s dick and starts stroking him.

“Oh fuck, Stiles.” Parrish is shaking, pushing back into Stiles’s mouth, and then thrusting through his grip. “Not going to last.”

Fingers. Mouth. Dick. Getting Parrish off three times, one more time than he’d gotten Stiles off is the plan. Stiles licks down Parrish’s ass and over his balls. He tilts his head to the side and pulls Parrish’s cock back so that he can get the tip into his mouth. He needs it bad enough that the awkward angle doesn’t matter. Honestly the plan is kind of a mess at this point. He doesn’t really care. Based on the noises Parrish is making and how he’s shaking he doesn’t really seem to care about the plan’s specifics either.

Stiles wonders what it would be like if Parrish came while he was eating him out. Was that even the right turn of phrase? He feels like he needs to know, for… science. Or something.

“Stiles!”

“Yeah?”

“Please… focus… so… close…”

Parrish is having trouble speaking, and yeah, it’s probably because he can’t figure out if Stiles’s tongue in his ass or hand around his cock is better. Stiles gets it. He needs to be more present with the situation.

“Can I please? So close…”

Stiles makes a noise that’s supposed to be inquisitive, but it makes Parrish shake, so he repeats it again. Parrish’s hips stutter, and he loses the rhythm he had going between pushing back into Stiles’s mouth and fucking into Stiles’s fist.

“Please, sir,” Parrish begs.

“As many times as I want, right?”

“Yes.” Parrish tries to spread himself open more, and his fingers are trembling as much as the rest of him.

“Then go ahead,” Stiles says.

It hits Parrish less than a minute later. His whole body seizes up, but Stiles works him through it with gentle strokes, and even though his tongue is starting to ache a bit he doesn’t stop, not until Parrish’s legs start quivering.

“So good, baby,” Stiles says, sitting back on his heels.

Parrish rolls to the side so he doesn’t collapse into the mess he made, then sprawls bonelessly on his back. Unable to resist the invitation Stiles moves back between Parrish’s legs, leaning in and licking him a few times before gently taking him into his mouth. Parrish strokes Stiles’s head and neck, running his fingers through his hair.

“Thank you,” Parrish says.

Stiles let’s Parrish slip out of his mouth, crawls up his body and kisses him. “You’re unfailingly polite, you know that right?”

The way Parrish’s hands stroke gently over Stiles’s sides and back are their own kind of answer.

“So… what’s in the bag?”

In his defense, Parrish made it a thing by saying he wanted to use it on him.

“Prostate massager.”

“Like a vibrator?”

Parrish laughs, but it doesn’t feel like it’s at Stiles’s expense. “You’ll see.”

Perhaps Stiles would see some other night before they were out of time, but tonight was going to be about Parrish.

“We can talk about that. But you still owe me.”

“Yes.”

“Promises were made.” Stiles traces an ‘x’ over Parrish’s heart. “It would hold up in a court of law.”

Parrish makes an agreeable sound, gently stroking Stiles’s hair.

“Yes, tonight you can get me off as many times as you want, though at least one of those times is supposed to be with me wearing a blindfold.”

“That’s true.”

“And tomorrow I can tie you up and use some of my toys on you.”

“You can what now?”

Parrish pulls him into a kiss. Stiles is going to protest. He is. It’s just that Parrish’s lips are so soft, and his tongue knows things, and there’s a plan and well, the truth is he already knows he’d let Parrish do whatever he wanted. He doesn’t want to waste any of the time they have left.


End file.
